Superblobbys sandbox

Kennebec Train Line, Portland, Maine, December 1929

Two men sat inside a train; one sipping a hot chocolate while the other was freezing to death in his heavy jacket. “Jesus Christ, Harold, couldn’t you have chosen Oregon instead? I mean, weather’s the same, but the views are breathtaking compared to this,” complained George, the shivering man, as he pointed to the rows of vacant beach houses were blocking out the empty beach.

"I'd love to talk to you about Maine's coastline, or a lack thereof, but this is the closest to the Chicago Spirit that we have been in months." Harold peeked his head out of the train, looking into the next car.

“They doing that ritualistic stuff?” George scratched his beard out of anxiousness.

"Yeah, must explain how they got all that alcohol into the states." Harold responded after bringing his head back into the rail car.

The car he had been spying on was empty — save for two shady looking individuals. They were on the floor, rearranging random objects in a not so random arrangement. Harold opened the door of the railcar he was in and nudged towards the car up ahead. Surreptitiously, Harold crept into the lounge car ahead of him. Eventually seeking refuge behind a bar.

He poked his head up, getting a close look at the two all the while overhearing their conversation.

"You almost finished Bob? Chappell's gonna be on our ass if we have a run in with the feds."

The name Chappell rung a bell in Harolds’ head, he was number one on the UIU's most wanted. These were the Spirits’ for sure. Harold stood up from his hiding spot, armed with a bottle of whiskey. He slid over the bar, charging in the direction of the two Spirit thugs. They charged at Harold. The rift opened at that moment, blinding the two thugs while Harold juked them both. The portal was in his view now, nothing standing in his way. Harold dove in with ease while the two gangsters got back up.

Three Portlands

A rift opened in the streets, an odd occurrence to the automobiles swerving out of the way. It was enough of a disturbance to have your car drive quite literally into a train. Even worse was when a bewildered Harold fumbled out of the portal.

He stumbled up and began running onto the sidewalk. The UIU agent stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd of passerbys. His nervous face asking the question "What the hell just happened?" Harold never got the answer though, he had more busy things to do. Such as running away from the two other Chicago Spirit members who emerged.

Inconspicuously whistling, Harold ducked into the nearest bar he could find. It was called "Mimsi's" according to the vertical sign hanging outside. What awaited him inside was a few old men hiding behind their newspapers. All the while, billiards in the back were used by competitive pool-goers with a few spectators. The bar was the liveliest, with only three stools vacant and the bartender sweating frantically pouring drinks.

Harold stared at the scene before him, glancing at the three different environments blend together in one pub. No one seemed to care about what he was doing standing around awkwardly. Up until someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned around to see a petite woman smiling at him, "Uh, you know could seat yourself?"

Harold stammered, looking for words. "Sorry about that, actually, I was wondering how one would…get out? Like back to Portland."

"Ah! I get what you mean, hold on lemme write directions."

The woman reached into her apron. In a fit of sudden impulse Harold tackled her to the floor. A gun slid out of her apron to the other side of the pub. He struggled to get back up. Flailing his outstretched arms in an attempt to get to the gun first.

"Nuh-uh! You stay right there!" He yelled while cocking the pistol and aiming it at the people of the bar.

The whole room was fixed on him now, the clack of pool balls stopped. The barflys put their drinks on the coasters. Even the old men so engrossed in their newspapers set them down. The pissed off UIU agent wouldn't get an answer. All he would get is a concussion from a quiet thug who knocked him out from behind.

Chicago Spirit Jail, One Hour Later

Harold woke abruptly. In a fit of sudden panic he slammed on the bars of the cell. The neglect of the prisoners from the Chicago Spirit was evident after observing skeletons strewn about the damp basement.

Yeah, I'm not gonna end up like him…

Harold reassured himself with that comforting thought. He'd probably have to cling to it for a while. The thought of being in a dark cellar for the rest of his days seemed unlikely to Harold. All this neglect could mean that someone could be bound to get out eventually.

That was exactly what happened. While Harold was pondering on ways to escape, a riot occurred on top of wherever he was locked in. He knew it when the sunlight streamed into the basement. Revealing even more skeletons than he expected. Two men walked in and began checking all the cells.

"Only skeletons in here Frederick, think we should keep on going?"

"Dunno, nothing but old bones in here-"

The two were interrupted by clattering at the back. The two sprinted in the direction of the clattering.

"Hey! Whatever you are, stay right there! We're coming! Phillip, hurry up and get whoevers inside, out!"

"I'm not going anywhere, as you can see." Harold snickered to himself at the joke.

The two reached his cell. Furiously, they began hacking at the padlock keeping the rusted cell sturdy. The cell came apart one pole at a time. All three of them dodged the tumbling projectiles before walking out.

"You couldn't have chosen a later day to be locked up buddy, ain't that right Phil?" Frederick's thick German accent was beginning to show.

"Damn right, this is the second Chicago Spirit compound we've raided this week. Fuckers are crawling all over Three Ports." The contrasting posh British accent of Phillip was strange considering the sour relations between the two countries. Three Portlands is definitely from another world.

Harold was ushered by the two with great haste. They were approaching the epicenter of the battle when he was pushed to the ground in order to avoid being shot. Harold crawled behind the nearest cover, a dumpster. Phillip and Frederick followed suit shortly after.

"Alright, listen, I assume you're an enemy of the Spirit. I need you to take this back and give it to the Foundation or something-"

An entire clips worth was unloaded at the dumpster. All of them being reflected by the dumpster or whizzing past them. Phillip was being even more concise after ripping off the necklace around his neck.

"IN THIS CAPSULE IS INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO OPEN PORTALS! TAKE IT AND GET OUTTA HERE!"

Harold stuffed put the capsule around his neck while he looked around for viable escapes. Bingo! An empty automobile on the far end of the fence. Harold tapped Fredericks shoulder.

"I'm gonna need to ask for one more thing before I leave."


Deafening gunshots rang out left and right of Harold while he fumbled through the open grass. Frederick and Phil were laying down suppressive fire. A chain link fence surrounded the facility, keeping intruders out. Ironically, it was also Harolds escape. The fence seemed easy enough to scale.

By the time Harold hopped the fence. He was well out of stamina, despite this he still carried on until he panted into the car. A wave of relief filled his lungs while the car beamed to life at the turn of a key.

There was one issue however, Harold never learned to drive. He stomped on the gas, a terrible mistake on his behalf. He swerved the wheel left and right in an attempt to get as far as possible. He thought it best to ride out as far as possible from the battle at the compound.


Harold coughed and wheezed after rolling out of the car. The coat of his suit being used to put out the smoldering fire. Sadly, the car would soon be engulfed in fire alongside the tree it crashed into.

Not bad, you got at least two miles away.

Harold put his hands on his hips. Dropping his ashen coat to the ground, he walked away from the scene. He knew this was decision he would later regret. However, the dense city provided enough cover to slip away during a ritual.

The crowded streets of the Three Portlands were chock full of civilians alongside Chicago Spirit thugs patrolling the streets. The news of Harolds escape in the middle of the battle wasn't made known yet. Harold managed to make it a mile into the city until he deemed it too unsafe to walk in the streets.

In a dark alley, Harold squatted next to a fire escape and heaps of garbage. Harold opened up the capsule and read the guide with scrupulous attentiveness.

"Here goes nothing…"

Ten Minutes Later

The blinding light was visible once more. The portal was open, all Harold needed to do was go inside. Wasn't that easy though, not when a thug started firing into the alley. Harold was once again blessed by lady luck and avoided the barrage of bullets.

"Not today sonny!"

Harold stood up from his cover and fired blindly until he heard his revolver click. The firearm was discarded while Harold tackled the thug. The gang member was still reloading the Thompson Gun he unloaded in the direction of Harold. Unfortunately for the Spirit member he wouldn't be able to finish. Harold socked him in the face before anything could be done.

While Harold relished in self victory. Three other gangsters were preparing to run down the alley. Harold made a full 180 and dove head first into the portal. The portal shut before a single bullet was fired.

Portland

Harolds portal re-emerged in an open field next to a road. The weather was shoddy, an overcast hung while rain poured down on the UIU agent. Easy enough, just follow the main road until you hit town. You can hitchhike to D.C. and march straight into Hoovers office. This might be the big break he was waiting for.

A smile crept along Harolds' face just thinking of it. A sign was in the distance, hopefully Maine. Then again he would settle for Oregon just fine. George was probably making his way to the Pentagon as he spoke. They'd be just fine without each other.

When he finally got close enough to read the sign, the thoughts stirring in his head came to a sudden stop.

Welcome To the Isle and Royal Manor of Portland

"Son of a Bitch."



Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License