JULY 2004 - #1

Chaos Theory part one by Toby Kernan

Nightingale put the journal down, stood up, and walked out of her office. For the most part, it had been a very quiet morning. None of the other inhabitants of the Street had come in complaining of ailments, and she had no appointments scheduled today. She had planned on spending the day catching up on her journal reading, and later was going to go home, make some popcorn and watch the Lauryn Hill Unplugged episode she had taped off of MTV2 last week.

Nightingale stepped out the front door of her building and looked around. Things seemed very normal, and quiet. It was a bright and sunny day, with only a smattering of scattered white clouds in a sea of blue sky.

"Is there something wrong, Danny?" asked Nightingale aloud.

Had Nightingale been a normal person on a normal street, she might have seemed strange asking a question with nobody in close proximity. She was not a normal person. Well, unless your version of normal is a blue-skinned, bald, empathic mutant looking in her thirties, when she was in fact in her eighties. The street she lived on was hardly a normal street either, unless there are more living streets named Danny that traveled anywhere in the universe that she didn't know about. Anything was possible, after all, Nightingale had come to discover.

Nightingale looked around for some sign from the street, Danny. She saw a poster sitting in a nearby window, reading 'Please go to Mr. Mind's Shop. Trouble'. Nightingale read the poster and quickly made her way down the street.

Minutes later she arrived at the shop, and looked around the exterior. Everything seemed normal. The sign, "Mr. Mind's Shop of Curiosities' still hung outside the door. The window was still filled with a vast array of oddities - including a stuffed two-headed goat, a suit of diminutive samurai armor, and a psychedelic poster featuring the all-Deviant punk band Renegade Scuzboats.

Nightingale opened the front door and peaked in, calling out the name of shop owner Mr. Mind. She stopped and listened, and her plenty of noise from the shop's interior. There was crashing, smashing, and a great deal of noise going on. Nightingale stepped inside to see what was going on.

Minutes later, after maneuvering her way through countless shelves filled with brick-a-brack and knick-knacks, she finally caught a glimpse of Mr. Mind. He was a strange creature, a two feet long large green caterpillar. He wore thick-rimmed glasses to compensate for poor eyesight and a large machine-contraption he called a universal translator, which allowed him to speak and understand human dialects. Nightingale wasn't completely sure of his origins-he was a mostly private person, but the rumor around the Street was he was once a leader of the Venusian (that is right, from the planet Venus) Worms. She had heard they had once tried to overtake the Earth, but had failed, and Mr. Mind was the only surviving member of his race. Somehow, after all of this, he had ended up on Danny, where he had been content to spend his days collecting, selling, and trading unusual items.

Nightingale watched as Mr. Mind moved from one pile of goods to another, shuffling through items with reckless abandon. He seemed to be looking for something he couldn't find, and Nightingale assumed it must be very important, because he was paying no attention to the well being of the other objects that stood in his way.

"What iz that little green runt doin'?"

Nightingale, jumped, startled at the voice that had suddenly appeared behind her. Regaining her composure, she turned, and found herself looking at the top of the balding head of Wilhelm Von Vilhelm. Vile, as he was known on the Street, was another Danny denizen - a short, overweight, obnoxious, reformed criminal formerly known as the Painter of 1000 Perils. He had picked up that moniker because he had the amazing ability to make his works of art 'come to life', a fact that hadn't stopped him from being beat up by just about every hero living around New York City at one time or another. Nightingale didn't much like the man - he ate too much, smoked stinking cigars, and always showed up at her office with some new mysterious aliment.

"Mr. Mind," yelled Nightingale, ignoring Vilhelm, "what is wrong?"

"It is missing . . . " mumbled Mr. Mind, not bothering to look up from his searching.

Suddenly, Mr. Mind pushed through a stack of papers, and the pile went flying across the room, like a blizzard of large white flakes.

"Vat is it?" asked Vilhelm, his curiosity now peaked.

"A vial," mumbled Mr. Mind. "I did my inventory, just like I do every morning, and it is not here. I have checked, and it is not where I put it, nor anywhere . . . "

"Was the vial something important?" asked Nightingale, not sure she wanted to know the real answer. Mr. Mind had plenty of strange things locked up in this shop, and some were quite dangerous. Last year, he had collected a stray dream, which had escaped from the Dreaming. The dream had gotten loose, and every denizen of the Street spent the next week dreaming they were cross-dressing hermaphrodite alligators. The stray dream was eventually reigned in, but Nightingale hasn't been able to watch any Crocodile Hunter episodes since.

"Oh," bellowed Mr. Mind, sarcasm suddenly filling his voice, "not really, unless you consider a vial full of PURE CHAOS important . . . "

Nightingale frowned. This was indeed a very bad thing. Chaos wasn't something to be played around with. Only the most powerful of magicians or brilliant of scientists should handle something some troublesome and volatile.

"You didn't sell it to somebody?" asked Vilhelm.

"NO!" shouted Mr. Mind, "Do you think I am an inept, forgetful worm? I know where everything is, and know everything I sell. I keep very accurate and meticulous records. I didn't sell it. It is just . . . gone."

Nightingale thought about the dilemma and an idea sprung to her head.

"Danny," she asked aloud, to the Street, "was someone, other than Mr. Mind in this shop last night?"

Suddenly an antique radio, sitting on a nearby shelf, crackled to life. At first an old Hank Williams Sr. song came crackling through. Then it stopped, and the voice on the radio spoke; "Yes".

"Impossible," said Mr. Mind. "I have security . . . "

The radio spoke again; "This was no ordinary person. This creature moved with the shadows . . . "

"It wasn't someone from the Street?" asked Nightingale, although she already suspected she knew that answer.

"No," crackled the voice, static filling the room.

"Is he/she/it still on the Street?" asked Mr. Worm, the anger in his voice unmistakable. Nobody stole from Mr. Mind.

Suddenly, the song began again, a twangy, old country tune: "He left last night. It wasn't right. He got off this morning you see. Right before we left Burly, Tennessee."

"We must go back!" exclaimed Mr. Mind.

Nightingale agreed completely. A vial of pure chaos was far too dangerous to let fall into the wrong hands.

"We will find this criminal," announced Mr. Mind, "I will assemble a team . . . "

Nightingale rolled her eyes and slowly backed towards the door, thinking escape. Sadly, she knew it was futile, because any team assembled from denizens of Danny was going to need a healer along for the ride . . .

Nightingale looked around at the group assembled before her and her hopes for success in this endeavor was hardly elated.

First there was Charles Rowland, the pubescent English detective ghost. It wasn't that she didn't like Charles, he was a nice kid, and a fine detective, but he also had the mentality of a twelve year old, something Nightingale found odd since he had been dead, yet around, for over a hundred years. It was strange that he had mastered the art of detective work in the last century, but still played practical jokes and lived in a tree house in the middle of Danny's Ashbury Park.

Standing loyally next to Charles was his faithful companion, and sidekick, Krypto the Super Dog. Krypto had been a stray who had wondered onto the street a couple of years ago, and never left. He and Charles had formed a special bond, and the two had become inseparable every since. They were a good pair, the ghost boy and the dog with super abilities.

Another member of the group stood close by, dancing around, and keeping a close eye upon Krypto. He was known as Brother Power, a living stuffed doll infused with magic and a nostalgic love of the trippy-hippy peace and love generation of the late 60's. Mr. Mind had discovered him one time while the Street was stopped at San Francisco, at an old antique store, inanimate. Once Power was on the street, his groovy lifeforce sprung back into being, and they haven't been able to get rid of him since.

Nightingale looked around, wondering who else was going to be part of this little group. She didn't expect to see Vilhelm, he was too big of a coward. She was actually happy of his cowardice, because she didn't want to look after the overweight lecherous slug anyway. She did notice though that Mr. Mind, the group's organizer, was yet to present himself.

"Excellent Nightingale, you have decided to join us . . . "

Nightingale turned and was blinded by something shiny standing behind her. Shielding her eyes, she saw Mr. Mind . . . and much more. Behind her stood a robot, nearly seven feet tall. It was quite a contraption, full of whizzing motors and clanking gears. It looked like something out of a bad Ed Wood-era horror film. In the center of the metallic body sat Mr. Mind, with a vast assortment of wires and connections sprouting from his wormy body.

"Do you like it?" chirped Mr. Mind, happily. "I created it myself. A powerful metal body to manipulate while on this mission. It could well be my greatest creation. I call it Ultimo!"

"Lord help us all," exclaimed Nightingale, her eyes closing in preparation for exasperation. Here was quite an assembled group. A preteen ghost and his super-powered pup, a blue-skinned mutant healer, a living feel good doll, and a brilliant worm encased in a giant robotic suit.

"What could possibly go wrong?" she mumbled to herself, shaking her head in dismay.

Despite her company along this trip, Nightingale was actually sort-of enjoying herself. Most of that enjoyment had to do with her surroundings. She was pleased that this adventure had, so far, not taken them inside of any large city. Nightingale didn't like big cities - filled with pollution and rude people and excessive noise and everything that was wrong with the human race. She like the rural life, with the quite serenity, peaceful smells, and warm tranquility. That was just what she was getting today. So far their adventure had taken them to a small town of Burly, Tennessee, population 314. Danny had stopped there for a couple of days before, because he said he like the people, and the denizens had taken the chance to stock up on okra and orange soda.

From the look of the direction Krypto was taking them though, it appeared their destination was outside of town. Nightingale hoped it wasn't very far. She was the only person in the group with any fear of exhaustion from a long journey, being she was currently traveling with a robot, a ghost, a doll, and a super dog that never seemed to tire.

After an hour of walking, Nightingale had nearly had enough of her companions. Between the incessant whine of Mr. Mind's metallic contraption and Brother Power's insistence on singing a medley of Iron Butterfly 'classics', she thought soon she might well go insane.

Then suddenly, she saw IT, and knew it must be their destination. IT was a building, and it stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rolling green fields, which surrounded it upon all sides. It was a huge structure, shiny silver, domed-shaped, and completely enclosed-no windows, doors or any other outside structures could be seen. Other than the dirt road, which led to it, and a high electric fence, which surrounded it, there were no other structures or identifying marks.

Krypto was barking ahead of them, and Nightingale ran up to join the others and see what the commotion was.

"Bloody hell," bellowed Charles, "you all betta look at this . . . "

"Watch your language Charles," replied Nightingale as she walked up. Once there had been gates in the fence, blocking the dirt road's entrance to the building. Those gates were now gone, ripped from their hinges by some violent force. On what was left of the fence, to their left, was a sign. 'Government Testing Facility. Authorized Personnel Only.' the sign read.

"This just keep getting better and better . . . " mumbled Nightingale, reluctantly following the others as they moved inside the fence, towards the large silver dome.

Surprisingly, the trip towards the dome was without incident. Nightingale wasn't sure whether that pleased or scared her. She pictured a bevy of guards with guns or attack dogs or mines or something protecting the facility. She had worked for secret government agencies, and was well aware how paranoid they tended to be. The fact that nothing was protecting this facility meant either that it was abandoned or all the security had been . . . eliminated. Judging by the new look and the violated front fence, she doubted the abandonment idea. That meant something had ripped through her, something powerful enough to make it's way into a secured government facility. She was suddenly wishing she hung out with the JLA instead of this rag-tag bag of misfits.

Nightingale followed her companions to where the dirt road ended, at a spot on the side of the large dome. It seemed to lead into nothing but the dome, as there was no perceivable door or latch or hatch or anything else. There was only silver metal wall.

"Let me see here," mumbled Mr. Mind. Suddenly the robot's hands were on the wall, probing for some sort of entrance into the building; "perhaps the entrance can be seen in some other form. Infra-red perhaps or ultraviolet."

"AHA!" yelled Mr. Mind, and suddenly a huge door, nearly twenty feet tall and nearly as long wide, swung open with a gust of warm air. The members of the group started to walk inside.

"Here goes nothing . . . " mumbled Nightingale, as she joined the group inside. As she walked inside, the last member of the group, the large metallic door closed behind them with another gust of warm air.