By Starmaster ID# 14716 Of...
It was a pleasant day outside, but inside the fight club arena held in Minnesota, the occupants couldn’t care less. Krystal Fae and Miðgarðsormr were tied for wins and fought to take the silver medal. Ma$ter Kan held his position for the gold with a large lead and stood at the back of the room, observing their fight while sycophants swarmed around him like bees to their hive. The waved them out of his field of vision as the crowd cheered. Blows were exchanged inside the ring and Krystal had been driven down to a knee.
“Did you see that?” HowlingMoon asked as he levitated up from his seat to gain a better view. “For a Fae, she can really take a punch.”
Starmaster held out a flyer to a caped woman as she passed close to their recruitment drive table. She waved him off and melted into the mass of onlookers. He sighed as he slid back into his chair. “She’s a tough opponent. Too bad she’s already in a league.”
HowlingMoon lowered and resettled into his seat. “Most people are. Do you really think we will get anyone to join the Star Force by doing this?” He picked up a flyer from the table and read over the message. “And why would anyone join because we are offering cookies? You can get cookies at any vendor about the city.”
“I hear it works for some.” Starmaster half-stood as a pair of costumed heroes crept toward the two of them, but clearly spooked them with his sudden movement. They continued by, giving the table a wide berth. Starmaster finished standing and stretched his shoulders by pulling his arms behind his back. “We have hardly any reputation in the field, so we need a hook. Something that gets people looking to participate to pay attention to us.”
“Last league war, you saw my online post looking for people and sent me a message to combine our efforts. I left my league-of-one to join your Star Force. Maybe we need to do that.” HowlingMoon said. “Target smaller, unsuccessful leagues to combine efforts.”
“I’ve done that,” Starmaster said. “I’ve contacted individuals and leagues with less than six members. I’ve posted on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. We aren’t getting many bites. We need to up our game. League War 3, we only had six members. I would really like to get a full complement of 12 this go around.”
An astonished gasp rose from the crowd as Miðgarðsormr’s body flew up into the air and crashed back down onto the mat of the ring.
Wyldfyre shuffled out of the crowd, his hands full of pamphlets. Tossing a handful into the air, he ignited the combustible paper into a whooshing fireball, leaving the remaining ash to fall to the ground like snowflakes. “I don’t know how you talked me into doing this. What a colossal waste of time.”
“Hey!” Starmaster pulled the remaining flyers from Wyldfyre’s hands telekinetically. “Copies aren’t cheap. If we want enough members to have a chance to win anything at the Stellar Battle, we have to do the work.”
Wyldfyre shook his head. “Like you did last time? Three of your recruits didn’t even show up to their fights. You need to stop searching the junior ranks and offer some bling to big hitters. You and the other new guy should be able to come up with some gear or power enhancers to catch their interest.”
“I’m not going to ‘buy’ a team, Wyld,” Starmaster said. “There have to be some heroes out there who want to join us because they want more than easy wins and little effort.”
“Easy wins and little effort sounds good to me,” Wyldfyre smirked. “Where can I sign up for that? You know what your problem is? You’ve always been too much of a dreamer. Time to be a realist. Money talks. I know this group of mercs that I could put you in contact with.”
“We’re not going to hire mercenaries to fill ranks!” Starmaster rubbed his temple beside his left eye. “We’ve known each other a long time, but just because you sometimes work in the gray on your own doesn’t mean I’m letting the team follow you into that cesspool. The Star Force needs to stand for better than that.”
Wyldfyre shrugs and looks to HowlingMoon. “Like I said. Once a dreamer, always a dreamer.”
A strong, hurricane-force wind blasts out from the ring, knocking onlookers down and spreading debris into the air, including waves of recruitment papers off the table. A roar of excitement erupts from around the ring as people cheer.
Catalyst, the newest member to join the Star Force, wheels a cart up to the table. A device the size of two microwave ovens sit on top. “Where do you want the 3D cookie printer? I whipped it up in the lab.”
“You couldn’t have made something useful? Quantum grenades? Negasonic Warheads?” Wyldfyre sends a jet of flame out to melt a Styrofoam cup rolling on the floor. “A friggen’ laser rifle? All that technical savvy you say you have, and you make a Make-and-Bake oven?”
“No,” Catalyst replies as he rolls his eyes behind the thick goggles of his steampunk-ish costume. “It prints the cookies out according to one-thousand preset recipes. I left the baking part for you to take care of. You can generate at least 350 degrees heat for 14 minutes, can’t you?”
Wyldfyre mutters under his breath to himself and turns around, walking back into the crowd. “Here’s one-hundred and eighty degrees for you, nerd.”
Starmaster and HowlingMoon watch Wyldfyre disappear before turning toward the Star Force’s newest member. Catalyst pulls the cart beside the table and unwinds a coil of electrical cord to an outlet, seemingly unphased by Wyldfyre’s departure. Plugging the machine in, Catalyst returns and switches the device on. A light comes on within the chamber and a soft whirring begins. “What kind would you like to try first. I recommend my mother’s recipe for double-dark chocolate with marshmallow and mint chips.”
“Ummm, sure. Sounds good,” HowlingMoon said. “I like raw cookie dough.”
“Oh, don’t worry. This can bake them, too. I knew Wyldfyre would throw a hissy if I asked him to help out.” Catalyst chuckles with light amusement. “He can be such a hothead.”
HowlingMoon turns to Starmaster. “I hope Chained Angel is having better luck than we are.”
“I’m not sure. She was talking about doing some more long-term recruitment plans but didn’t say exactly what she was doing.” Starmaster pulls out his league communication device and connects with Chained Angel, setting the display on holographic. “Hey, Angel. How are things going for you?”
Chained Angel’s face and torso appear on screen, her white wings glistening in the background. “Nothing definitive. The crowd does seem receptive, though.”
“Great. That is great news,” Starmaster remarks. “How many potential recruits do you think we will have for the Stellar Battle?”
Chained Angel looks mystified. “For Stellar Battle? None, Starmaster. Most of today’s heroes already are members of leagues. None of these future heroes will be ready that soon?”
“What do you mean, future heroes?” Starmaster asked. “Are you scouting the schools. I know there are some adolescents out there, but I didn’t know you knew any of them.”
“No, I figured I would start at the source, you know, get to them first. A generation of participants that haven’t heard of any other leagues, so we have the best, initial impression.” Chained Angel smiled at her camera.
Starmaster grimaced, wary of the answer to his next question. “Angel, where exactly are you?”
Her camera pulling back and revealing a room with a large glass window. Chained Angel has a banner with the Star Force Logo with a large yellow smiley-face painted onto it. Behind the glass are several dozen small plastic cribs with infants laying inside of them. “The delivery ward at New Amsterdam Hospital. I quote ‘We have to get them while they are young and fresh.’ That’s what you said at the meeting last night. Where are they younger or fresher?”
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