#50: Telling Tall Tales Along the Ann Arbor Trail

After locking up her office, the Phantom Jungle Girl and I raced downstairs to the waiting Y+Thems van. Rubber Brother was in the passenger seat; with an elongated arm, he opened the sliding side door for us to hop in back. Domina was behind the wheel; she was the only Youthful Permutation. The others—Soren, Kiddo, and Tempy—were never part of our plan, Jasper wanting to keep the operation light and mobile.
     But much to my surprise, my sister Avie and Kozmik Kat were waiting for us in the back seat.

#49: Enter: The Phantom Jungle Girl!

Despite the invitation from Donna Blank herself, not to mention the urging of Rubber Brother, I still procrastinated about visiting Royal Oak. After all, what was I going to tell a licensed social worker? That there was a laboratory deep under the Arbor State where not only Megasoldier Syrup was produced, but also the dead returned to life, and possibly some kind of scientific project was underway that was fusing together incompatible dimensions of reality? And that this may have been connected to my own missing biological father and the return of my long-lost Grandma?

#48: Donna Blank, District Defender

I was in my sweats, shivering at the poor steam heating in my garret apartment, reading over the voluminous notes my advisor had scribbled all over my senior thesis draft, when suddenly there came a knock at the door. “Who is it?”
      “Jasper,” came the reply. “Jasper Johnson.”
     I let him in. Rubber Brother was nattily attired in a sharp business suit with a carefully-folded pocket handkerchief. “You look awful,” he said. “Are you feeling well?”

#47: Dana Dorman, Two Doors Down

Ever since she’d arrived from Megatropolis with a vanload of Youthful Permutations, I’d gotten the vibe that Dana Dorman—the megaheroine known as Domina—had the hots for me. I suppose I’d gotten that vibe from the several times she’d overtly hit on me; her rather crude suggestions in front of the others were frankly embarrassing, and revealed how ill-equipped and lacking in social skills some megaheroes can be. I’d had to make it clear to her over and over that she simply wasn’t my type—she was way too aggressive. But I tried not to be rude to her; after all, she was living in the communal residence of the Holistic-Humanist Congregation of Cass City, just two doors down West Forest from where I lived, with the other Y+Thems exiled in Detroit—along with my younger half-sister, Avie.

#46: Will the Real Mervyn Goldfarb Please Stand Up?

The man casually perusing a magazine at the newsstand at the front of Border Worlds Used and Slightly New Bookstore turned to me, perhaps expecting to see an old friend. But I could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t recognize me at all.
     “I saw you shoot yourself up with the homemade Megasoldier Syrup you cooked up in your bathtub and sold to unsuspecting college students as a steroid shortcut to megaheroic physique,” I said, “Your musculature puffed up to the size of Megaton Man—then you exploded into bluish slime all over the alley next door!”