Fan Fiction ❯ The Cosmic Movie ❯ Standard Unoriginality ( Chapter 1 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

"The Cosmic Movie"
A goofy one-shot by OzZ Cometh (AKA, JackoMegane)


Disclaimer-
I own nothing in relevance to Teen Titans. Some loaded bastard in Cartoon Network holds that esteemed countenance, and I offer no contest to it.
That being said, please don't sue me...I have no money, anyway.
Also, Jim Morrison wrote the lyrics to the song, “The Cosmic Movie” I had nothing to do with it’s creation (Or with Jim’s elaborate drug-consumption…as far as you know)


*Author’s note*
I am not, nor am I even considering giving up on Frailty. While things have been a little slow for me lately (Which I apologize for) I swear on my Mother’s Grave (Whom isn’t actually dead…yet) I am going to finish what I started. I did this simply because I got it stuck in my head and couldn’t get it out.
...And as long as I'm at it, this fic has already been posted once before, however something 'really' weird happened with the formatting, the source of which I never identified, thus I am forced to issue a proverbial "do-over". To be brief, the primary problem seemed to be something with the italics. Because of that, this re-post is going to be under plain text format.


*FIC START*


Strewn out in the center of what a third party could have only assumed to have been a boxing ring of some sort were the five shadowed forms of Jump city’s crime-fighting team of super heroes, each no more or less unconscious than the next. Their surroundings were one of a large, particularly empty, aluminum building. The ring itself and several rows of sitting benches intended to comfortably seat an audience surrounding the latter would easily lead one to believe that the titans’ accommodations were that of an arena; the type of place Monday night wrestling would be aired from, only of course, a bit rougher around the proverbial edges.


And yet only they dwelled within the room’s confines. Or at least, it would appear this way, until close to five minutes of their peaceful slumbering passed.
Due to the shadows of the unlit room, it was impossible for someone whom may have been awake to see the stranger enter the ring, however when he snapped his fingers, subsequently bathing the room in a pale white light (Strangely enough, failing to awake his tenants), he came into full, luminated detail.
His age could not have surpassed that of eighteen. In some areas, where it seemed more logical, his flesh was dark bronze, however in others, such as his face, it was plain Caucasian white.
Wrapping tightly around his lean torso was a blue T-shirt sporting the word “Volcom” across the chest (Underneath which, in much smaller stenciling, bore the line, “You can put it together, or you can pull it apart.”)
Due to the article of clothing’s rather short hemline, a leather rhinestone belt that securely fastened a pair of khaki shorts around his waist was clearly visible, and glinted when light struck upon it at particular angles.


Stroking his thick goatee, the young man’s lips jerked into a smile as he looked upon his new ‘Guests’.
“Time to rise n’ shine, my precious snowflakes…” He mused before snapping his fingers once more.
On this occasion, a harsh low note played on a bass, shortly followed by a slightly higher note, kicked out through four speakers, caddy-cornered throughout the room. The titans stirred slightly, but did not emerge from sleep, thus the music continued, leading into lyrics that assumed the drug-induced voice of none other than Jim Morrison.


"I everybody ready?
‘Cause me and the devil are gonna’ take you on a long and evil ride…"


Cyborg was the very first to twitch an eye, a sure-fire sign of awakening. He groaned as the loud music donated to one bastard of a headache he had awoken with. Slowly, the hybrid begun to pick himself up, but the song persisted,


"Well, we’re all in the cosmic movie, y’know that?
That means the day you die, you gotta’ watch your entire life, recurring, eternally…forever.*


Starfire was the next to begin staggering to a full awareness. Gradually, the redhead Tamaranian picked herself up, rubbing her face gingerly.

'Not even friend Robin listens to music this loud…'


Was her first somewhat coherent thought after awakening.


"So you better have some good incidents happenin’ in there…and a fitting climax."


As the last have of the above verse repeated itself, Beastboy’s eyes snapped open. While groggily assuming a sitting position, he mumbled, “Jeez…did anyone get the license plate of that Semi?”


"We had some good times…those good little times…"


Robin’s ears perked as the familiar song flooded his earshot. It was that familiarity that helped to guide him to his feet.


"They're absolutely, positively under the ground!
As long as I got breath, the death of rock is the death of me!
Out here, we are stoned immaculate.
…Stoned immaculate.
Can you give me sanctuary? I must find a place to hide.
I tell you this, man. I don’t know what’s gonna’ happen, but I wanna’ have my kicks before the whole shit-house goes up in flames!"


As the song came to a close, the full gauge of the titans’ predicament became evident.
“I think…someone’s captured us…” Raven, the last to have awoken, noted while probing an orange metal collar that was fitted around her neck.


“And indeed, you would be right…” A youthful male voice replied from the corner of the ring, gaining all of their attention. Perched upon a ring post was their captor.
With an eye-full of his shirt and freakishly large suede sneakers (Which, on the ankle sported the DVS logo), Beastboy made what was quite possibly the most obvious observation of the day, “He looks like one of those…skater-guys…”
“Right again.” The young man said. “Yes, busting my head open in the midst of a flea market parking lot is my *second* preferable hobby.”
When no one laughed at the lame joke, he cleared his throat and continued, “My centralized forte is writing. Friends, I’ve brought you here for a very good cause, and…”
“We’re 'not' your friends!” Robin interrupted. “Now let us out of here, or…” He begun to approach, but stopped short when his captor extracted a small remote from the cargo pocket of his shorts.
“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you, Rambo!” He warned. “You make one false move, I press the jolly, candy-like button on this remote and you get the shit shocked out of you, capiche’?”
Robin growled and clenched his fists, but relented.
“Fine.” He leered, “Then at least tell us what you want.”


The young man smiled as he dropped the remote back into his pocket. “Well, I had every intention of it, before you went all gung-ho on me. Now then, first of all, let me introduce myself. My name is Jacko Megane, and lately I’ve had a lot of trouble with my…”
“That isn’t your *real* name, is it?” Cyborg cut Jacko off, causing him to hang his head slightly.
“…No…But it’s really cool, huh? Nothing like my actual name…” His eyes flared slightly, “Mom…I’ll get you back someday, I *swear* I will! Don’t you know that’s the reason most children wind up killing their parents?!? I swear to God, WHAT MIND-ALTERING WONDER-DRUG WERE YOU ON WHEN YOU…” he trailed at realizing he was beginning to rant. His prisoners had fallen rather silent in both words and physical actions as well.
After sparring a moment to recompose himself, he picked back up, “…Right…my name’s Jacko Megane, and I’ve brought you here because my writing, something 'oh, so' precious to me, is in a spot of trouble.
What you will do tonight will hopefully give me some inspiration, and…”
“Can I ask a question?” Beast Boy interrupted Jacko once more, causing him to groan in frustration.
“WHAT?” He bellowed.
“How did you catch us?”
“Yes.” Starfire agreed, “I too am interested in knowing how one with such spindly arms could have put all of us in captivity.”


To this, Jacko's irritated countenace quickly died. Replacing it was a cocksure smile, and a subtle chuckle.
“It’s impossible to see me comin’. I’m like the vulture swooping down on it’s prey in a windless desert night. By the time you’ve got any indication of my presence, it’s too late.
'BAM!'
I’ve done hit you in the back of the neck with a Charlie’s angels karate chop!”
He struck a whopping crane stance that merely 'bred' the word ‘idiot’, leaving all but one titan at a loss for words.


“…Right…” Cyborg spoke up, “Or *maybe* you just shot us with that tranquilizer gun over there…” He pointed toward the said rifle-like dart gun propped against a ring post, which Jacko quickly kicked away to the apron, out of sight.
“Hah, hah, hah! What tranquilizer? There was nothing there! I dunno’ *what* you’re talking about!” He frantically blurted.
“Whatever!” Robin hissed, causing the skater to fall silent. “Just tell us what you want us to do and if it’s halfway reasonable, I *might* agree.”
“Okay…fine.” Jacko replied sheepishly. “It’s simple, really. I have a little physical combat competition thing planned. For each of you, I have a different opponent lined up.”
A certain ominous demeanor overcame the male titans as the Game-master and his insidious plot came to mind, but the fear was quickly put to rest when he continued, “Now, don’t worry about consequences, or anything. Win or lose, you’ll still get to go home and I have no intention of putting any of you 'against' each other. This should actually be a good opportunity to gauge yourself.”
A long pause of consideration ensued.


“All of this is quite…” Starfire begun, however Cyborg finished for her, “Stupid! I’m not gunna’ take precious time outta’ my day, fightin' some loser in spandex just so 'you' can find a retarded entertainment from it!”
“Aw, c’mon!” Jacko retorted childishly, “It’s not 'completely' pointless, this is for my writing’s sake, besides if I just 'asked' you, would you have said yes?”
“NO!” They all bellowed in unison.
“Well, alright then, I’m justified.”


“There is one more question I have…” Starfire ventured, looking about the room.
“If this is supposed to be a contest of strength, should there not be spectators? No one is here…”
Jacko grimaced at the question. “Don’t remind me. I did, however, hire a guy to announce the introductions!” He looked toward the ceiling. “Say something, buddy!”
Through the same speakers that filtered the music, a male voice crackled out and echoed through the room, “Uh…hey, people…uh…my name is Rob, and I just…eh…I just want my listeners to know that, uh…that I am a convicted sex-offender…just a bit of, uh…personal information…”
The titans appalled gaze shifted from the ceiling to Jacko, whom slapped his forehead disdainfully and groaned, “'Christ', I need to raise my standards…”
After looking toward the runway that led to the ring, he continued, “Alright, Robin. Since you’re big-boss man, you get the privilege of going first…if everyone else would please vacate the ring…”
With much understandable reluctance, the other titans left, Raven however, queried when she noticed that Jacko did not follow suit, “And just 'what' are you supposed to be doing?”
“Well…someone has to referee, don’t they?” Came her answer. Satisfied (But by no means content with the situation) the telekinetic vanished into a vortex of black energy and reappeared on the outside of the ring.


Realizing that he was in no decently prepared position on the ring, Robin ventured to the corner furthest from the runway. Ironically (Or possibly not) when his destination was reached, the announcer’s voice once more crackled through the speakers overhead, “Okay, weighing in at a completely unidentified amount of pounds, standing at a mystery height and apparently born with no last name, Robin!…”
A pause was provided for a group face-fault.
“…and his challenger, weighing in at two hundred and twenty three pounds, towering at eight square feet, descendent directly from the swirling torrent of oblivion, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for…THE…SENSATIONAL…LOVECRAFT!!!”
Robin’s arms fell limply to his side, taking in the name.
“The sensational 'what'?”
Standing at the foot of the runway was a massive creature of severe features. Easily clearing even Cyborg, tallest of the titans by several feet, it’s build was that of rippling muscles and stretched, pallid flesh that was mostly covered by a black lycra suit with a flame motif dominating the limbs. Stenciled across the chest in sky-blue lettering, the body-glove bore the line, “Time of Pleasure.”


Sinking into it’s angular, chiseled face were a pair of narrow, pupiless eyes that burnt furiously like hot coals. It’s nose, structured like that of a boar, took on similar functions, in that every few seconds a plume of hot breath ejected from the nasals. Protruding from it’s mouth were a duo of tusks that climbed up nearly to it’s brow.
Fitted atop the hulking brute’s head was a brass helmet that reflected the surroundings upon it’s polished surface, poking out from underneath which was a scraggly, unkempt main of hair that spilled down to it’s mid-back.


It’s actions, however, were an utter antithesis to it’s prominent intimidating appearance. Standing on its toes and stretching both arms high above its head, it approached the ring in a manner that one would promptly recognize to be that of a ballerina. Halfway across the ramp, it stopped to horizontally position it’s torso (Bend over) and kick a leg directly out behind it. Holding this, it shot both arms out, like wings of an airplane, ultimately demonstrating an unparalleled balance. After nearly a minute passed, the creature aborted the stretch (Or whatever it was) and began running the remaining distance to the ring in what was quite possibly the most feminine (Downright girly) fashion that Robin, Jacko, or anyone else present on that odd, odd night had ever seen.
A foot shy of the apron, it leapt into the air, clearing the top-rope by a hair and landing in a splits position directly in the center of the ring.
All the while, Robin and Jacko’s shocked expressions were a near mirror image of each-other.
“Where…” The boy-wonder begun, trailed then picked back up, “Where 'did' you get this guy”
Jacko, whom had failed to avert his gaze from The Sensational Lovecraft and his superlatively painful looking situation, subtly replied, “Some leather bar in San Francisco.” Then added, “He 'looked' menacing…had I known he’d be a giant tinkerbell…” Words failed him as he digested the predicament.
“…Ah well…” A nonchalant shrug shortly followed. “This might make things more interesting.” He walked toward a vacant ring-post and leaned against it.
“LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!”


A piercing bell rung and echoed throughout the building, subsequently causing the Lovecraft to rise to it’s feet. Pointing at Robin in a traditional homosexual manner, it spoke in a voice strongly resembling that of Richard Simmons, “With beauty and grace, I shall defeat you!” and begun to dash toward him.
In response, Robin backed up, struck a Jeet Kun-Do stance and let it come, gauging it’s height--a large factor in what kind of effect an attack would have.
A foot shy of what would've been a deadly collision, he lashed out with a mid-air roundhouse that landed harshly across the chest of the Lovecraft, sending it stumbling in reverse, but not quite falling.
Not willing to waste a second, Robin extracted a pole from the side of his utility belt and extended it to a full seven foot length. After crouching, he swung it in a 180 degree arc that smashed forcefully into the back of his opponent’s calves, causing it to come crashing to the mat.
He quickly recovered to his feet, expecting his enemy to shrug the attack off, only to hear it whine from the vicinity of his feet, “Oh! I think I broke a nail!”


After returning the pole to it’s position on his belt, Robin gazed toward Jacko, a slightly lost look upon his masked face,
“What now?” He asked.
“Pin it!” Jacko replied, preparing to perform the count. Robin, however, face-faulted.
“I…uh…I don’t think I wanna’ 'lay down' on top of it. Couldn’t I just knock it out?”
“C’mon, now, Robby-pooh!” The Lovecraft coaxed from the ring floor, using his much despised term of endearment, compliments of Kitty. “Don’t be shy…”
Needless to say, Robin’s face-fault morphed to a full-fledged snarl. “Or kill it…” He growled.
Within Jacko’s mind, there was still a slight grudge toward the Lovecraft for his immense, how does one say it diplomatically...


Gayness.


Especially considering the risk he had placed upon his heterosexuality to retrieve the beast/ballerina’s services from a San Franciscan leather bar. It was this personal disfavoritsim that effectively controlled his lungs, “Sure, whatever.”


“Oh nooo!” The Lovecraft screamed in a cheesy, melodramatic voice before Robin lifted the once more armed pole above his head and brought it down.


It wold take nearly five full minutes for the combined efforts of Jacko, Cyborg and even Starfire to heft the unconscious (Or possibly dead. Admissibly, no one cared) form of The Sensational Lovecraft out of the ring. When this feat was accomplished, Rob boomed over the speakers, causing everyone to start in surprise, “Okay, I think it’s safe to assume that Robin won, though thanks are in order to me…Y’see before the match, I severely weakened the Lovecraft with my 'nudity'…”
There was a long pause, occupied by a heavy silence.
“That turn anyone on down there?…No? Okay, anyway, the next competitor’s name is Raven, so whoever that is, get your butt in that ring!”
Jacko looked hopefully in the sorceress’ direction. After breathing a heavy, defeated sigh, she mumbled, “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it…” And climbed into the ring.


A second after she comfortably situated herself against a ring-post, the announcements picked back up, “And her opponent, weighing in at one hundred and thirteen pounds, standing at five foot three, a remedial math instructor from South Texas, MRS. EMMIT!”
The group watched from the ring as a scrawny woman, easily forty years of age, stepped out onto the entrance ramp. Her skin was an ugly dark brown, decorated with deep potholes and more liver-spots than a zebra had stripes. Her dull black hair, cut boyishly short, fell around the sides of her face and, though being straight, looked more plastic and unmoving than natural.
Jutting out of the center of her face was a large, angular nose that a third party quickly noticed over every other facial detail.


Dressed in a winter green business coat, khaki capris that exposed her stubly calves (…Ewwww…) and red pumps, the woman identified as Mrs. Emitt looked nowhere 'near' prepared to fight, and Raven could not refrain from looking toward Jacko and asking, “Any motivation behind this?”
The author grinned maliciously. “You bet your ass there was! In fourth grade this old hag sent a note to my mom suggesting I be sent to a 'speical kids' camp. Free towels or not, that was the worst time of my life!.”
Raven arched an eyebrow. “No shame in genuine honesty…” She replied sarcastically, causing Jacko to leer at her.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to…”
“Hey!”
Raven’s retort was disrupted by a nasaly voice. She looked toward the front apron to see that Mrs. Emitt had entered the ring.
“You should keep your eyes on your opponent!” The teacher warned, but Raven didn’t seem phased.
“Some opponent…” She replied dryly.
Mrs. Emitt grinned.
“Oh, so that’s what this is. Underestimation. You think I’ll be easy pickens…”
“Easy 'what'?”


She did not respond, but instead slipped a hand into a breast-pocket of the coat and fished out a small bottle, the label of which read, “Mr. Wang’s fast-acting steroids”


Grinning, Mrs. Emitt ripped the cap off and downed the entire bottle, then tossed it to the side and waited.
The wait wasn’t long. Almost immediately after the final pill was completely swallowed, her eyes nearly tripled in size. A hand shot up over her mouth and she quickly doubled over, shortly following this, every conceivable muscle begun to sporadically bulge, till the once petite woman was nearly the size and physique of a professional weight-lifter. When at last the shape shifting was complete, Mrs. Emitt was no longer in existence. Taking her place was a colossal brown-skinned brute with no determinable sex.


It chuckled in a deep, disembodied voice.
“Looks like the tables’ve turned…”
Raven’s eyes widened considerably and she begun to back-peddle as it approached her.
“The Hurricane o' Pain is comin’ your way, baby!” It boomed while raising a finger, “And it’s aimed at y…”
The muscle-bound giant’s taunting died just as quickly as it begun when a strange sensation, not unlike pins and needles, started in it's wrist and slowly begun to lurch up the arm. All too suddenly, its heart-beat begun to race, and its head pounded furiously. Its jaw dropped to scream, but nothing came out.


At least, not from the mouth.


If one had been standing behind the brute, they would have seen the seat of its pants, which had amazingly (And quite fortunately) remained in tact, bulge as a sound, clearly flatuallation, ripped through the air. When the after math of the tremendous fart dissipated, Mrs. Emitt (If you could still call her that) flopped over on her front and lay perfectly still.


Raven approached and leaned over it’s prone form.
“Is…she…?”
After briefly examining the body, Jacko muttered, “She’s dead, Jim…” than knelt over and retrieved the discarded bottle. Turning it over, he read the label aloud, “Mr.Wang’s fast acting steroids. Physical enhancement tablets. Be the sexylicious stud-muffin you want to, faster!” He paused to gaze up at the titans.
“Sexylicious stud-muffin?”
Then picked back up, “Warning! Extreme over-dosage will cause applicant’s large intestine to congeal and fall out of his or her rectum….” He narrowed his eyes toward Mrs. Emitt’s lifeless body, more namely, the seat of her pants.
“Uh…F.Y.I, I’m not cleaning that up…”
“Oh, really?” Cyborg asked from outside of the ring. “Then who is?” and quickly noticed the hopeful stares in his direction.
Grumbling, the hybrid knelt down to wrap his arm about the giant’s wrist, however something on the bottle caught his eye.
Retrieving it, he mumbled, “Idiot, you forgot a part.” Then begun to read aloud what Jacko had missed, “…after which, applicant will explode.”
Cyborg’s single human eye widened as his mind came to terms with the full extent of the warning.
“…Uh oh…HIT THE DIRT!”
Just as he reached the ropes, the body of which he was assigned to rid the ring of exploded, showering the mat in blood, bones and vital organs.


Jacko was the first to raise above the safety of the apron and see the ring. All he could immediately thereafter do was produce a long, drawn out whistle at the mess left in the aftermath.
“Well, will ya’ look at this…” Cyborg’s voice cut from behind him. Jacko turned to see the hybrid standing no more than two feet away, the collar that once detained him now in two pieces on the mat.
“Oh, boy…” The author muttered while backpedaling away.
“Uh…hey! Look!” He abruptly pointed over Cyborg’s shoulder, “It’s MegaMan and AstroBoy, setting fire to a mint-condition issue of the very first Fantastic Four comic!”
“What?!? Where?!?” The bionic whirled around, almost looking as though he were ready to lay a nuke down on the entire west wing of the hangar, however he, of course, saw nothing. By the time he returned to face his captor’s direction, the young man had vanished.


Cyborg slapped his forehead.
“Awww man!” He groaned, “I can’t believe I fell for that!”
“Neither can I…” Robin and the others approached him from behind, “But that’s the least of our worries right now. You can figure out how to get this collar off, right?” He brushed a finger along the said collar.
Cyborg glanced down at the broken device that lay across the floor, several of it’s innards strewn across from one half to the other.
“Yeah.” He replied while kneeling down to gather the gadget. “If I picked at it enough, I’m sure I could.”
“Good. Then we need to get outta’ here.”


As they filed out of the exit door of the hangar, Robin, last to venture across the threshold, looked over his shoulder, just briefly, wanting desperately to say something. In the end, all he could produce was, “…What a weird night…”
His escape was hastened when Rob replied over the speakers, “I’ll say…wanna’ grab something to drink? ...I *love* your cape…”


-= The end =-


*You didn’t really think I’d go through with a fight for each one of them, did you? …Get real…*