The Trillion Dollar Man
The villain was delighted—the Six Million Dollar Man was retiring. Although the human hybrid was biologically 85 years old, the technological adjustments had kept him young, and he still appeared as vibrant and vigorous as ever. It’s just that the government retirement perks were too good to pass up, and he wanted to stop and smell the roses—and work on his backhand with his nuclear-powered artificial arm.
But government ingenuity does not stand still, especially in the Defense Department. Reminding themselves that “we have the technology,” they created the Trillion-Dollar Man. The villain treated this intelligence with sneering contempt. He figured it was a lazy retread of the 1970s design: a 20:1 zoom lens with a grid reticle to spot moving vehicles in the desert, the aforementioned nuclear-powered artificial right arm, and a Fisher speaker to broadcast the ch-ch-ch-ch during action sequences requiring slow motion.
Soon the villain would meet the supposed Trillion-Dollar Man. The villain had stolen 100 satellites in Earth’s orbit by changing their passwords and locking out their rightful owners. Sitting in a warehouse in an undisclosed location, the villain, along with his henchmen, lay in wait. The Trillion-Dollar Man was sure to come soon.
The arrival of the Trillion-Dollar Man at the warehouse was an anticlimax. He was dressed in an Armani suit with an open-collar black shirt. He was thin, had dark hair, and wore the most expensive sunglasses on Earth. He stopped about 25 feet from the villain and his gang and made a sweeping gesture. Instantly, his briefcase changed into a desk complete with an open laptop. The man sat down and looked at the villain in a calm, detached manner.
The villain looked with disdain at the Trillion-Dollar Man seated behind the laptop. Clearly, there was no bionic work done on this frail figure. A single henchman could easily take this guy out without breaking a sweat.
“What, no ch-ch-ch-ch sound?” mocked the villain, deriding the Six Million Dollar Man’s sound signature. “I think you overlooked it in your lame upgrade.”
The Trillion-Dollar Man said nothing. He simply began typing something on his laptop and pressed return. Calmly, he closed the laptop lid, and the Law & Order gong rang out with the utmost septophonic fidelity.
“I licensed the L&O gong for my exclusive use,” he calmly stated. This was no exaggeration, since the gong sound was removed from every recorded episode of Law & Order and replaced by the ch-ch-ch-ch sound.
“Ha!” cried the villain. “While you wasted your time with lame sound effects, my ‘associates’ will make you change your tune!”
“I’ve noticed your henchmen are undercompensated,” observed the Trillion-Dollar Man. The henchmen, just about to attack, paused.
“They are not!” insisted the villain. “They have a great salary. And even dental. Do you know how hard it is to get dental these days? And it’s so generous: unlimited teeth implants. No matter how many times their teeth get knocked out, they are guaranteed replacements. And it’s all on me!”
The Trillion-Dollar Man did not react. He was too busy typing away. After he finished, the henchmen’s cellular phones emitted their utterly tasteless ringtones. The henchmen took out their phones, studied them, and then calmly shut them down. Leaving the villain stranded, they assumed a menacing stance behind the Trillion-Dollar Man with their arms crossed.
“I just bought them Caribbean islands complete with mansions with all the modern conveniences they could ever want,” he said. “Now, what about the satellites you stole?”
Although deprived of his henchmen and highly exposed tactically, the villain wouldn’t give up.
“Never, never! I’ve got the code, and you’ll never win!”
The Trillion-Dollar Man sighed and shook his head. More typing. In fact, more typing than before, clicks and clacks like you’ve never heard. After this frenzy, he slammed the return key and spoke:
“I think you should know, my not-so-good man, that I just acquired your organization, iEvil. I now own the satellites you stole from me since I own the company. And as your new boss, I must inform you that you have been demoted to office intern. If you want to keep your job, you had better get over to headquarters immediately.”
With that, the Trillion-Dollar Man, with a sweeping gesture, activated the packing program that folded everything back into a briefcase. Securing the handle, he walked out of the warehouse escorted by the newly acquired henchmen.
The villain watched the egress, absolutely stunned. Not a punch, not a body slam, not even a slow-motion attack had been attempted. He had prepared for a street fight, only to be crushed under a cascading avalanche of raw capital. Humbled, the villain sighed and slowly shuffled toward the iEvil headquarters. After all, even villains have to eat.
