Baconman In: Fight or Sizzle! The Return of Coffeeman!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Come! Enjoy the first published episode of Baconman and his fight for truth, justice, and all that is greasy!

Submitted: March 30, 2011

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Submitted: March 30, 2011

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Baconman: Survive or Sizzle! Coffeeman Returns! 
Chris Milheim opened the door to his apartment when the phone rang. Chris tossed the keys onto a small stack of magazines and cookbooks by the door and reached for the phone. “Hello?” he said with a grimace.
“Baconman!” replied his frantic brother Ben. “The jewelry store across the street from Crappciano is being robbed. I just saw Coffeeman kick in the door.”
“Seriously?” Chris said. “I just got home.”
“I don’t care Mr. “Defender of Justice,” just get downtown now.”
“Ugh,” Chris uttered as he returned the phone to its stand. He quickly made for his bedroom located down the narrow hallway. The door, ripped from its hinges long ago, posed no trouble for the hero of justice. He dug inside his closet and pulled out a wrinkled t-shirt with the emblem of Baconman and the corresponding pants. His cape and cloth mask were hidden just underneath a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Chris soon adorned his uniform and exited the apartment via the window.
The two story drop mattered little to the Hammy Avenger. The dense fat packed inside his feet and knees absorbed the fall. The night air concealed his departure. With a kick of his bare feet, Baconman began to bound and leap through the streets of Newership City. He used his great strength to jump atop rooftops and the grease coating his feet to slide down concrete. He leapt along Queens St. until he made a quick spin to the right as he caught sight of the blue and red sirens below.
Baconman fell from the night sky with a thud. He landed in an alley not far from the police barricade halting Coffeeman. He saw the bright sign above the store marked “Crystal’s.” A small crowd of onlookers cheered as Baconman emerged onto the street. “Thank you! Thank you!” shouted Baconman in his deep, booming voice. “Please, please, this is to much. I’m just doing my civic duty!” A familiar pat on Baconman’s back caught his attention.
“Baconman,” said Officer Matthew Juror, “if you could follow me to the tape.”
Baconman nodded as he let the officer lead him to the yellow perimeter. The pair ducked beneath the line as they approached a flashing police cruiser. “Did you brief him?” asked another policeman. Brady, Baconman assured himself. Baconman turned to Matthew.
“No.”
“Alright then,” Brady said as he pointed to the surrounded jewelry store. “A silent alarm triggered about fifteen minutes ago from that store tipped us off. When we arrived, a man covered with burns handed the first responding officers a note.” Brady passed the brown stained note to Baconman. He unfolded it. On it was written an x’d out 3, the number 2, and a brown coffee stain next to a word written in blood red marker. 
“Revenge,” read Baconman. “Does he have any hostages?”
“I think two. That’s why the 3’s crossed out. SWAT was mobilized as well, but we haven’t heard back from the team leader in a while. They entered throught the roof. I heard gunshots.”
Baconman was silent for a moment. He examined the brick building, noting the black sheets covering the windows and the double door entrance. “Gunshots bug me. It could mean Coffeeman’s working a gang of some sorts.” He rubbed some sweat on his chin. “I’ll need to make an entrance.”
“But both of the doors and the rood are covered,” answered a confused Brady.
“I need to make an entrance. Where’s the bathroom?”
The officer aimed his finger to the left of the building. Baconman smiled and thanked the officer. With a dash, Baconman entered the building left of “Crystal’s,” a “Dollar Stop,” and turned to the shop’s clerk. “I’m sorry in advance. I’ll cover this.” The clerk, Margie, opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The big man with a brown mask she had just met burst into the store just broke down the store’s wall, right into the next building. She heard gunshots and cries of “Get him!” She promptly clocked out and fled the premise of the story.
A slight miscalculation landed Baconman into the hornet’s nest. Several men armed with an assortment of rifles either laid on the floor or stood in shock as Baconman quickly rethought his strategy. One man aimed his gun at Baconman, but quickly felt the hammer-fist of justice. He was sent flying back into a glowing display case, bounced off, and face-planted into the ground. Two other men fled out the door, while the third on the ground fired at Baconman.
The shots ricocheted harmlessly off of the fabulously flabby hide of Baconman. “That almost tickled,” he chuckled. Baconman pulled the man off the ground by his grey hoodie and tossed him into the fleeing crooks. The duo collapsed like bowling pins. Baconman dusted his hand off, before turning to the only remaining crook hidden behind the display case. “Weapon down, hands up scumbag.”
No response. Baconman smiled. He intensified his focus on the display case, blasting it with Baconvision™.  The brown rays burned through the display case, and penetrated the pores of the man. He yelped and stood up. “What the hell was that?” he yelped.
Baconman quickly seized the man by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. Baconman spun the man around, and slammed him into the wall. “That, sir, was acne-inducing ray of radiation. Right now, your pores are screaming for moisture and unless you answer my next two questions correctly, you’ll be screaming for cream.”
The man tilted his head up to the gaze of Baconman. He felt chills run down his acne covered spine. His captor’s breath reeked of bacon. His eyes darted up to Baconman’s hair. It was heavy-looking, and slicked down. A mammoth sized hand removed itself from his chest, and snapped. His focus was now on the hero’s voice.
“Where are the hostages?” asked Baconman.
“Up… up stairs,” he mumbled. “They’re with the boss.”
“And where are the stairs?”
The man mumbled out an inaudible squeak before turning his head to the left. Behind Baconman was a flight of spiraling black stairs with glass at their sides. Several panes of glass were broken. Baconman returned to the crook. “If I see you again, I’ll turn you so ugly that even your mother won’t love you.” With a final strike, Baconman delivered a knockout blow to the crook. He set him down with the others and began his ascent.
He arrived with little fanfare. He was certain anyone else in the building would have heard the commotion downstairs. “Coffeeman,” he shouted. “Show yourself!”
Three doors down, a face popped out and greeted him. “Baconman!” called his archenemy. “I put a pot of my best brew on for you and my guests. Please I insist you join us.”
Baconman scoffed. He raised a fist at his foe. “Jarred, stop this before someone else gets hurt.” Coffeeman waved him closer before disappearing behind the door labeled “Break Room.” Reluctantly, Baconman followed.
“Please, shut the door. I don’t want any uninvited guests to our little coffee-klatch.” Baconman shut the door behind him.
The break room was a small white room, with two vending machines, a table and four chairs. In the first chair was the blonde-haired villain, Coffeeman. His costume was something Baconman once envied. It was black, with a white streak of letters denoting his name. It was bulkier than the last time he saw him, and completely stained with coffee marks.
The two hostages were quivering. Baconman only took a second to memorize their name tags. Jeremy was in a business suit and on his left. Red-head Devon was sobbing and on his right. “What do you want Coffeeman?” boomed Baconman.
“Quiet, for starters,” Coffeeman said as he pointed his hand to Jeremy. “I want to speak. Now take a seat.”
Bacoman sat down. The chair groaned under his mass. In front of him was a cup of steaming black coffee. “Now drink.”
“I don’t drink coffee black.”
“Then have some sweetener. We insist.” Coffeeman laughed.
Coffeeman’s eyes shifted to the middle of the table. Baconman reached for the packets, but stopped. All of the packets read “Natural Sugar Substitute.” “Go ahead, take a few. Come on Baconman, Jeremy doesn’t have all night.”
Baconman grasped a few packets and ripped them open. The smell of not-sugar permeated his nose.  He slowly poured the sweetener into the liquid void. “Evil, vile, demonspawn,” mumbled Baconman.
“What was that?”
Baconman didn’t respond. He took the handle with his massive grip and tossed his head back. He poured the entire hot beverage down his throat. He could already hear his stomach painfully churning.
“It burns real good Baconman. Just like you did to me. Just like you betrayed me!” Coffeeman screamed hysterically. “Now have another!”
“Stop this Jarred.”
“Never! Now take a drink.” Coffeeman slid his cup of joe in Baconman’s direction. Baconman put his hand on the white, plastic tabletop. Pain pierced his gut. “Don’t worry, this one’s all ready for you! Now drink!” Coffeeman’s hand pressed against the man’s face.
Baconman was certain this would be it. This cup would kill him. He could hardly think. The pain was incredible. He knew this would kill him, but he reached for the mug. His brain told him to stop, but the steam seared his face. He angled the cup, but the mug shattered in his face.
Outside the break room, a sole member of the SWAT team held a smoking handgun. Pointed directly at Coffeeman, through Baconman’s mug, the shot knocked the villain and his chair back. A powerful burst of super steamed coffee erupted from Coffeeman’s hand, but only managed to damage the white paint. Baconman, reacting with the speed of a fast food god, swung down at the table, splitting it in two. He threw himself over the cracked table, his buttocks pulling the chair with him.
He crashed down on the villain like a lunch hour rush, and proceeded to pummel the ever-living evil out of the now struggling villain. The multiple blows shattered bones and a blast of Baconvision™ half blinded Coffeeman. Coffeeman countered with a second, but wild burst of boiling coffee. It exploded off of his skin like a broken fire hydrant, spewing molten lava hot coffee.
Baconman felt his clothes burn onto his skin. Luckily, the range of the attack didn’t extend further than a foot. The chair behind Baconman broke his landing against the wall furthest away from Coffeeman. He watched as his enemy stand and points his hands at Baconman. “You did this to me, and now you will die Bacon-fool!”
The coffee struck Baconman directly in the chest, knocking down the wall behind him. Baconman landed in the hallway, next to the SWAT officer. “You might wanna start runnin’,” Baconman said as he stood up. Baconman cracked his knuckles.
Like a raging, bacon-hungry bull, Baconman charged into the villain. He caught the next blast of coffee in the shoulder, but continued through the pressurized attack. With one hand, he knocked aside the villain’s hands and directed them upward. The other delivered an haymaker so powerful that one could aptly call it a “Sugar Ion Cannon.”
Coffeman was unconscious before his spinning body hit the ground. Baconman breathed a heavy sigh before turning to the two hostages. They had pressed themselves against the wall during the battle. Sopping wet, but largely unharmed, Baconman released the pair from their bondage. He said his good-byes, and as the K.O.’d  gang was hauled away to prison, he began the short walk home.


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