Nickhouse Episode Six - Roadtrip to Infinity (P2)

S1E6: Roadtrip to Infinity – Part Two

Meanwhile...

The Nickhouse management were having a staff meeting. Unfortunately, the staff room was being fumigated, so they were meeting in a Krusty Burger down the road.

“The meeting is now in session,” declared Simmonds, standing at the end of the table, “Attending are Deputy Manager David-”

There was a loud clanging of dishes.

“...Nickhouse Security CO Major George Simmonds, Deputy Security CO Captain Douglas McDonald, Quartermaster Lieutenant Mark Frankston and Receptionist Peterson Peterson. Witnesses consist of unknown Pimple Faced Kid, a family of three and an old man yelling at the ceiling. Minutes taken by Mr. Godwin.”

“Can you pass me my fries?” asked Godwin.

“Topic of today’s meeting; disappearance of Jasmine Fenton and the Police response or lack thereof.”

He sat down.

“They’re doing the best they can,” shrugged Frankston, “Given that Henrrys seems to have vanished and Wiggum’s too lazy to come.”

“They’re doing the best they can not to do the best they can,” said David, wryly, “Incidentally, where’s my muffin?”

“Aye, they’re a bunch of lazy...” began McDonald.

“...on topic, gentlemen,” snapped Simmonds, “The question is, what are we going to do?”

“I,” said Frankston, “Am going to eat this delicious burger, then get back to you.”

Simmonds rolled his eyes.

“OK, question,” he grunted, “Is anybody here actually focused?”

“Well, it’s hard to feel formal when you’re meeting in a fast-food restaurant,” said McDonald.

“Do you have anything to add, Mr. Peterson?” asked David.

A bored teenager, slouched over the corner of the table, shrugged. Simmonds sighed heavily.

“Alright,” he grumbled, “We will reconvene when the staff room has finished airing out. Meeting dismissed.”

“Great, pass the sauce!” exclaimed Frankston.

Simmonds leaned over the table and buried his head in his arms.

 

NICKHOUSE EPISODE SIX – ROADTRIP TO INFINITY PART TWO
Written by E350 and Autobot-Outcast

 

“...way I see it, Agent Bradley, it’s like this; give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Gut him like a fish and you never have to feed him again.”

Martell and Bradley were sitting in the break room, eating the slop that passed for dinner in Area 51. Bradley, somewhat discomforted by Martell’s line, poked the slop with his fork.

“CIA chefs?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s their shift, why?”

“I’m getting the feeling they don’t like us,” replied Bradley, picking what looked like an eyeball out of his slop, “I’m pretty sure this is meant to be meatloaf...”

“Well...it’s meat...” said Martell.

“...did they feed us their autopsies again?” grumbled Bradley.

Suddenly, there was a loud pulsing sound. The lights flickered, there was a faint scream and then it was done.

Bradley shivered.

“Hate that noise so much,” he grunted.

“Why?” quizzed Martell, “It’s a reminder of a job well done!”

She stood up and put a hand on Bradley’s shoulder.

“Come the next Intelligence Briefing in Washington,” she grinned, “We’ll be the one getting the President’s favour.”

She walked away, whistling to herself.

“Whatever you say, Colonel,” muttered Bradley, “Whatever you say...”

 

Henrrys had handcuffed Spongebob to the handle of his squad car and was pacing in front of him.

“Alright, you’re under arrest for attempting to drive an idiotically over-armed vehicle without a license. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say...”

Spongebob’s arm popped off, slipping through the cuffs and landing on the dusty road.

Henrrys stared, blinking. His face was very stern.

He sighed heavily.

“Harrison, get the duct tape,” he grumbled.

Three minutes later, Spongebob had been taped to the car door with so much duct tape he looked like a mummy. Only his mouth was still visible. For some reason, Henrrys had decided to tape him upside down.

“Alright, Houdini,” he snapped, “You’re now under arrest for attempting to drive an idiotically over-armed vehicle without a license and attempting to escape police custody. Now, unless you can turn into molten liquid Terminator-style, I would like you to answer some questions.”

“You’ve taped over my eyes,” wheezed Spongebob.

“Did you shut your eyes?” demanded Henrrys.

“No.”

“Well then that’s your fault.”

“Sir?” interrupted Harrison, “Don’t mean to interrupt your interrogation, but there’s a car coming.”

A black sedan was ambling down the road, pulling up next to Henrrys’ car. Three men – two in black suits and one slightly-portly man in a tan shirt and tie – got out and strode over to them.

“Lincoln County Sheriff,” the tan-dressed man introduced, “You’re sitting dangerously close to government land and we’d appreciate it if you left.”

“Busy,” snapped Henrrys.

“Officer, we’ve already arrested nearly a score o’ people breaking into A51,” drawled the Sheriff, “We’d really appreciate it if you left.”

Henrrys looked up.

“A score of people, you say?” he asked, “Wouldn’t happened to be named, uh, Turner? Neutron? Cheeks, maybe?”

“...how did you...”

“Usual suspects, sheriff,” replied Henrrys, “And if I may add, have you encountered a Fenton lately?”

“Yes sir,” nodded one of the agents, “We have arrested Jasmine Fenton for breaking and entering...”

“You’re a liar, Mr. Agent,” interrupted Henrrys, “You see, I’m from the Cartoon City Police Department, and I’m here on the trail of a kidnapped teenager by the name of, oh, Jasmine Fenton. Can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“You’re outta your depth and twenty states out of your jurisdiction,” snarled the Sheriff, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a civilian.”

“And as far as I’m concerned, you’re aiding and abetting kidnappers,” replied Henrrys, “You’re obstructing justice – those are crimes, Sheriff.”

“Not when the government does it,” snapped the Sheriff, leaning close to Henrrys, “Look, son, I know your kind, you’re all talk and no-”

And that was when Henrrys decked him.

 

Timmy, Jimmy, Sam and Tucker sat in a small cell, looking forlorn.

“Well that went well,” grumbled Timmy.

“Okay, so the plan was a bit...misjudged,” admitted Jimmy.

“You think?”

“But nothing will come out of losing hope,” continued Jimmy, “We need a plan!”

There was a long silence.

“...anybody have a plan?” asked Jimmy, “Part of a plan, even?”

“Nope, we’re doomed,” shrugged Tucker, pulling his PDA from his pocket, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna beat my high score on snake before I die.”

Everybody stared at him.

“Tucker,” asked Sam, “Why didn’t they confiscate your PDA?”

“Oh, they don’t know I’ve modified this baby,” chuckled Tucker, “I mean, if they knew this could hack their systems...”

He trailed off, looking up from his PDA. A slow grin spread across his face.

“...I got part of a plan, guys.”

 

Sergeant Thompson flagged down the black sedan, shouldering his rifle as he waited for the window to roll down.

“Name and rank?”

“James Henrrys, Acting Lincoln County Sheriff,” replied Henrrys.

“Acting?”

“The normal Sheriff had an accident,” said Henrrys, “Some terrible person punched him in the face.”

“Yeah, he gets that a lot,” nodded Thompson, “Drive on through.”

 

With a beep, the cell door opened.

Tucker half-walked, half-danced out into the corridor, holding up his PDA like a religious idol. Sam rolled her eyes as she followed him out.

“Right,” she said, “We need to find the others. Tucker, get me a floor plan.”

“Way ahead of you,” said Tucker, “They’re holding Jenny in the lab at the end of the hall, but it’s pretty well guarded. We’ll need a distraction.”

“I’ll handle it,” Timmy smirked.

He walked down the corridor, hands behind his back. He turned the corner.

There was a brief silence.

Then there was a very loud siren and Timmy ran the other way, chased by five different agents. He ran through a door and was gone.

“...yep, that oughta do it,” said Jimmy.

 

Henrrys pulled the car into the underground parking lot and got out. Whistling to himself, he walked around to the boot and opened it. Spongebob and Harrison were bundled inside.

“Right, I’m gonna get a crate and carry you in,” he said, “Wait for my go.”

“So we’re like a Jack-in-the-Box?!” exclaimed Spongebob, excitedly.

“...I hate you so much.”

 

Jimmy and Tucker were in the lab, trying to reassemble Jenny, who the OAFI agents had taken apart and deactivated.

“...and screw the head on and we’re good!” exclaimed Tucker, “Turn her on, Mr. Neutron!”

Jimmy flicked a switch on the back of her head and closed a panel over it.

“Am where I? Happened what? Why sentences are right not order?”

“Hold on,” grunted Tucker.

He opened a panel at the back of her neck and smacked it with great force.

“...ow...okay, that worked, thanks. Might take a while to get my Denmark together, though.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Sam, bluntly, “Just a question. Why do you guys have Jenny’s blueprints in your pockets?”

“Because of reasons,” replied Jimmy, “Now let’s get moving. Tucker, where next?”

“Autopsy rooms,” said Tucker, “That’s where Cosmo, Wanda and Poof are being held...we should probably hurry, is what I’m saying.”

 

Henrrys was pushing a crate on a cart down a hallway.

“What’s in the box?” asked an agent, passing Henrrys.

“Off-site meatloaf,” replied Henrrys.

“Oh, hallelujah,” exclaimed the agent, “I’ll tell the security guys not to give you trouble.”

 

Timmy ducked into an office, hiding as the agents ran straight past. Waiting until they were gone, he sighed with relief and looked around.

The desk was a simple affair, covered with paperwork under a small laptop. A label was engraved on the front of the desk – Colonel Christina Martell, United States Air Force.

Timmy walked over to the desk and started rifling through the drawers. At the bottom drawer, he pulled out a small, futuristic container with a big red button on top.

“I know I probably shouldn’t, but when am I ever gonna be here again?” shrugged Timmy, pressing the button.

The container burst open, and a green mist emerged. It quickly shaped into the form of Dani, who blinked a little and rubbed her eyes.

They glanced at the container.

“You’re telling me they made a ghost...”

“They made a ghost Pokeball, yes,” said Dani.

“That’s kinda sad.”

 

“...alright, we’ll start with the basics, Colonel,” the autopsy doctor said, “Hand me a scalpel, I want to see the construction of their eyes.”

“...I think they’re the same as normal eyes,” gulped Cosmo.

“Ja, but we must check,” the doctor grinned, “How else will we know for sure?”

“As long as you learn their power source, General Powers doesn’t care what you do,” shrugged Martell.

“Now, if there are any objections to this procedure, please inform me now...” began the doctor.

The door flew open.

Jenny raised two fingers, the tips opening up to reveal tranquiliser darts. They were both fired in quick succession, hitting both the doctor and Martell in the neck and knocking them out instantly.

Jimmy leaned in the door.

“Nice work, Jen,” he nodded.

“Thank you, spiders,” replied Jenny.

She blinked.

“I mean Jimmy.”

“Jimmy!” exclaimed Cosmo, “You came for us, like a knight in fudgey armour!”

“My hair is not fudgey,” snapped Jimmy.

“Yes, yes it is,” said Wanda.

 

Henrrys was looking at a sign above a crossroads, trying to work out how to get to the base commander when the sirens went off.

“All personnel. Colonel Martell’s comms have gone dark. Assume base-wide infiltration. This is not a drill! Agent Bradley to Lab Thirteen.”

Henrrys sighed. Couldn’t they have waited to escape until after he’d reached the General?

“Well, looks like we’re going to Lab Thirteen,” he shrugged.

 

Dani flew intangibly through the base, dragging Timmy by the collar. They too were headed to Lab Thirteen.

“Why did it have to be Lab Thirteen?” demanded Timmy, “Why not a lucky number, like Lab Seven? Or, heck, why not even Lab Sunshine and Bunnies?”

“I dunno, I guess Thirteen’s a threatening number,” shrugged Dani, “Oh, hold on, gotta make a detour.”

She dropped Timmy in a generator room and phased through the wall.

“Oh yeah, just leave me in the hostile base,” grunted Timmy, “Real nice. I mean, it’s not like we could be captured by angry government agents...again...”

Dani phased back into the room, her arm wrapped under Sandy’s shoulder.

“Right, we’re good, come on.”

She grabbed Timmy’s collar and flew off again.

“...and another thing, how come I’m the one being dragged off by the collar?”

 

Slowly and without making a fuss, Henrrys walked into Lab Thirteen, setting the crate in a corner and silently waiting.

Powers and Bradley were in a heated argument, the former demanding to know why they were being infiltrated again.

“We were taken by surprise, sir!” exclaimed Bradley, “They had some kind of hacking device we didn’t pick up!”

“Why aren’t any of our defences active?” snarled Powers.

“Hacked, sir,” replied Bradley, “They’re hacked.”

“By what?!” spat Powers.

“...by the hacking device, sir.”

Powers growled like a pit-bull. He grabbed a tin of pencils from a table and hurled them at Bradley, the agent barely ducking in time.

“Project Achilles is nearly done, Agent Bradley!” he shouted, “I am not going to have my efforts wasted by your incompetence. Now get out there and bring them back in, or do not come back alive...”

Suddenly, Dani, Timmy and Sandy phased through the wall. Moments later, the door flung open, and Jimmy and company charged into the room.

“Everybody party!” thundered Jenny, rockets emerging from her shoulders, “Hands behind your grapefruit!”

Bradley and Powers stared. Bradley moved his arms about, unsure of where exactly to put them.

Jenny facepalmed.

Henrrys groaned and opened the lid of the box. Harrison and Spongebob leapt out (the latter beaming and shouting ‘Surprise!’)

“Well, well,” snarled Powers, “If it isn’t Hogan’s Heroes.”

“My name’s not Hogan,” said Spongebob.

“I really hate you,” growled Henrrys.

He shook his head and drew his weapon.

“Major-General Whatsyourface, you’re under arrest.”

“I am a Lieutenant-General, officer,” growled Powers, “And you are outside your jurisdiction.”

“This is a kidnapping case,” replied Henrrys, “As the vic is a citizen of Cartoon City, I am still within the bounds of my civic duty.”

“Is that how police work works these days?” quizzed Bradley.

“I don’t know and don’t care,” shrugged Henrrys, “Where is Jasmine Fenton?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Powers.

He turned to Bradley.

“Mr. Bradley, bring out the chambers.”

Nervously, Bradley walked over to a panel on the wall and pressed a button. The wall folded up, revealing two glass containers divided by a large, complex-looking computer.

“This is Project Achilles,” said Powers, “We are going to transfer the abilities of Danny Phantom to our agents. Ms. Fenton will be our guinea pig.”

“...and you told us this while we had you surrounded,” reminded Sandy, “Just how did you make general again?”

“It’s already finished,” replied Powers, smirking, “By now, Ms. Fenton will have received all of Phantom’s abilities, combined with what our agents have called ‘Clockwork Orange’ style mental imagery to ensure her complete loyalty. I’m afraid you are the ones at a disadvantage today.”

He reached into his jacket and produced a small remote, pressing a button.

Smoke billowed through the room as the chamber containing Jazz slowly lifted open. It was one of those moments that, had it been a film, would have been accompanied by creepy-sounding Latin chanting and ‘scary horns’. Jazz was detached from the wires holding her up within the chamber and stepped out.

Then she collapsed, falling flat on her face. Other than that, nothing happened.

There was a very long silence. General Powers’ face turned the same shade as beetroot.

“Mr. Bradley,” he said, dangerously calm, “Did you activate Project Achilles?”

“That was Colonel Martell’s responsibility, sir,” replied Bradley.

“Colonel Martell was supposed to pass that responsibility to you, Mr. Bradley,” said Powers.

“Colonel Martell is not my commanding officer, sir,” said Bradley, “You are.”

“You miserable incompetent buffoon!” thundered Powers, “Everybody else here is aware of the chain of command! You know Martell is my second in command! Why didn’t you follow orders, you brainless imbecile...”

“Sir, orders from Washington clearly state...”

“We are not in Washington! We are not a democracy and you do not get...”

While Powers was screaming at his subordinate, he failed to notice Tucker skip merrily over to the remote (which had been thrown away in Powers’ rage), pick it up and press a button.

“...I was in Vietnam, boy! I was working with the chain of command since I was barely a man, and I have never, never disobeyed a direct order! What gives you the right...”

“But sir, it wasn’t a direct order...”

“Don’t you back-sass me, you steaming pile of-”

A finger tapped on his shoulder. The General turned around.

“What the heck do you want...”

Danny was standing behind him. His arms were crossed.

“Listen to me very carefully, General,” he demanded.

“Listen to you?! You’re nothing but a subhuman piece of...”

Danny’s arms lit up with green ectoplasma, and Powers quickly shut up.

“You can come after me all you want, I can take that,” said Danny, “But if you ever, ever  come after my friends and my family again...well, we’ll have words.”

He leaned in close.

“Let my people go, Powers,” he spat, “All of them.”

“Phantom, since when am I one of your...” began Henrrys.

Danny shushed him.

“Um...I...I wouldn’t mind being one of your pe-” interjected Harrison.

Danny shushed him, too.

Powers nodded.

“I will not come after your kin, you have made your terms clear,” he replied, “But I will come after you. I will hunt you down with every resource I have. I will find you, I will find who you are, and I will destroy you – and then, only then, will I take you into custody.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Dismissed, Phantom,” he growled.

 

The Fenton RV drove on through the night, heading back east.

“Well, it’s not the worst road trip I ever had,” shrugged Timmy, “There was that time I went to Canada...”

“So, how’s your head?” asked Sam, sitting down next to Jenny.

“Almost back to normal,” shrugged Jenny, “Although for some reason I keep slipping into anecdotes let them eat cake.”

“Could be worse,” said Sam, “You could be Tucker.”

“Hey!”

At the back of the RV, Danny was standing next to Jazz, who was laying on the bed.

“We’ve been sleeping in this thing for six days and we have, like, one bed,” said Danny, “Just letting you know, people are gonna get jealous.”

“Why’d you come after me?” asked Jazz, “Powers couldn’t have kept me there. What he was doing was illegal...”

“...and he didn’t care,” snapped Danny, “Besides, I care about you. And the only reason Mom and Dad didn’t come looking for you too is because we kinda stole their car.”

He paused.

“That’s gonna be hard to explain.”

“So, who’s driving?” asked Jazz, “I mean, I heard you drove twenty states without a licence...”

Danny winced.

“Sandy’s taking over,” he replied, “We might see if we can borrow Harrison to drive as well if Henrrys stops. Except I don’t think he stops, ever. What I’m saying is he’s kind of a terrifying driver and I’m rambling. Sorry.”

He yawned.

“Get some sleep, Danny,” smiled Jazz, “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” asked Danny, “Because I don’t need all that much sleep, I mean...”

“Did you even sleep on the way here?” demanded Jazz.

“Not a wink.”

“Go to bed, Danny,” ordered Jazz.

Danny smiled goofily and performed a mock salute.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, “I’ll be on the floor. Tell me if you need anything!”

He turned his back and walked away.

Jazz smiled to herself and closed the curtain next to the bed. She turned to face the window, raising her index finger up to the glass.

For a few seconds, it glowed green.

 

Powers paced in his office in complete silence, leaving Martell and Bradley standing uncomfortably in front of it.

“Did you notice something, Colonel, Agent?” he said at last.

“No sir,” replied Martell, “Are we being infiltrated again, sir?”

“About Phantom!” snapped Powers, “The way he refers to his...allies.”

He sat down and looked at them over steepled fingers.

“When I ordered Jasmine Fenton brought in, I had assumed from the intel we’d gathered that they were romantically involved,” he said, “In retrospect, I could not have been more wrong.”

He looked up at the ceiling.

“He referred to her as family.”

He looked back down, a dark smirk crossing his face.

“He’s a Fenton,” he said, “And by process of elimination, I think I know which one.”