An army of computers endowed with life wait behind a barricade of office furniture. They stand, lined up in military-style rows. The electronic beings’ “heads” are monitors teetering atop desktop towers, held in place by an unseen magnetic force. Their leader, a sleek off-brand Mac-fashioned computer, wobbles down the rows inspecting the soldiers.
On the opposite side of the office Stan Lee, Zip, Mouse, Bolt, and Alter-Ego are sitting on the ground with their backs up against an overturned filing cabinet. Stan unravels the last bit of wire from around his arm. “How am I going to get any work done today? My computer tried to eat me this morning!” he complains.
Bolt crawls forward and confesses, “I’m sorry Stan! This is all my fault. I don’t have the hang of my electricity powers yet.”
“Aw, don’t worry about it, kid. Let’s just put our noggins together and figure a way out of this!”
The five of them sit and think for a moment, as if the circumstances allowed for it.
“We could try to get back downstairs and cut the power?” Mouse suggests.
“Or I could write some kind of computer virus?” Bolt proposes.
“Maybe I could turn into a PC and infiltrate their ranks?” Alter-Ego offers while morphing his head into a monitor.
“Nah, those would take too long. I think we’re just going to have to fight our way through this the old-fashioned way,” Zip says while pounding a fist into her palm.
“Nuff’ said, gang. Let’s roll out!” Stan says while pumping a fist into the air.
The group pops up from behind the safety of their filing cabinet fortress. Across the way, the computers peek over the wall of junk, their beady digital eyes spying on POW! Entertainment’s defenders. Their leader speaks: “IT. IS. TIME. BITS. AND. BYTES. REMEMBER. POWER. SUPPLIES. DO. NOT. LAST. FOREVER.”
Both groups march out to the battlefield. They stare each other down with their chests proudly puffed out. “I can’t interest you word processors in a truce, can I?” Stan asks.
The computer commander answers Stan’s offer with a “PSSZH.” Then it continues: “WE. WILL. HAVE. YOUR. BRAINS.”
“Didn’t think so,” Stan replies, then turns to his employees. “All right Brigadiers! Let’s give em’ the old one-two punch, shall we?”
With that, Alter-Ego morphs his two fists into large hammers. Mouse puts up her dukes. Bolt unsheathes his electric dagger. Zip takes her running stance. Stan grabs a nearby standing lamp and holds it up like a baseball bat.
The two warring factions are about to lunge at one another when they are stymied by the ding of the elevator. They hesitate, turning their heads and monitors to the reception area.
The elevator doors open revealing an unsuspecting Angel of Justice, just arriving for work. “AHH!” she instantly yells upon seeing the legion of possessed computers. Before waiting to ascertain even the slightest hint of what is transpiring in front of her, a blinding yellow light flashes throughout the office.
Beams of energy flow forth from Angel’s outstretched hands and bulging eyes. Like a lighthouse spotlight rotating through space, the rays illuminate the room for a moment, and then are gone.
What’s left in their wake is a pile of smoldering ashes where once stood the mighty motherboard militia. Stan and crew blink their eyes, not quite sure of what just happened. Angel of Justice covers her mouth with both hands. Oops, what did I do? she thinks. The rest of the group relaxes. The threat is over.
“Well, no use crying over spilled milk. Back to work!” Stan orders and puts his lamp-bat down. “Every minute lollygagging here costs me at least a dollar!”