Shos-Down #24

Dragging myself to the corner after another round of Ted's merciless training, I plopped down, sweat pouring like I'd just taken a dive in a waterfall. It had been a few days since I signed up for the Wildcat boot camp, and let me tell you, dodging punches was becoming my jam. 

Stamina was on the up, and I'd upgraded from pulling a muscle every five minutes to maybe once an hour. Progress, right?

Glancing at Ted, the guy looked like he hadn't even heard of the concept of sweat. The man was well into his sixties, but he was pulling off the fresh-out-of-the-shower look. Must be that mythical Nine Lives thing or a secret pact with the sweat gods. Whatever it was, I needed in on that.

Besides the whole boxing gig, I'd been keeping my detective hat on. Yesterday, I cracked the case wide open. Now, it was all about the crazy planning stage. I even had this mental board going on, you know, the kind they show in movies when they introduce a character fixated on something, except my fixation was on finding people and trolling them for points. 

Brain on overdrive, strategy brewing – the works. And now, it was time to enact the first phase of my plan, shamelessly asking Ted for help. 

Sporting the most charming smile in my acting arsenal, I turned to face my relentless taskmaster, Ted. "Hey, Ted. What do you say to doing a little favor for your dear student?" I threw out, my expression oozing sweetness. 

Ted raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Well, that depends on the flavor of favor my 'dear student' has in mind," he replied, his tone as sly as his grin.

I leaned in, playing up the charm. "Oh, nothing too big for an awesome guy such as yourself. Just need you to introduce me to Ted Kord – you know, the big cheese over at Kord Industries," I said, adding a touch of exaggerated admiration to my expression.

Ted's skepticism was palpable. "And why would I know Ted Kord, let alone be able to introduce you?" he questioned, shooting me a look that suggested he wasn't buying it.

I chuckled, shooting him a sidelong glance. "Come on, Ted. You strike me as the guy who knows everyone – you're practically buddies with the broody one from Gotham, right?" I teased. Ted sighed, scratching his head as if I'd just cracked a complicated code.

"So, you caught on to that, huh? Not like I was being subtle, but sure," he mumbled. "I don't personally know Ted Kord, but I do know someone who does," he added after a brief pause.

I perked up. "Perfect! If you could just—" I began, but Ted cut me off with crossed arms and a stern look. 

"Hold your horses, kiddo. First, spill the beans. Why do you want to meet Kord?" Ted demanded.

Rubbing my hands together, I threw Ted my most charismatic grin. "I've got a business proposal for Kord, something that could benefit both of us," I declared, a spark of excitement in my eyes. "And who knows, if it takes off, I might even be able to afford your gym subscription. Wouldn't that be a dream?" I teased, hoping to tap into Ted's sense of humor.

Ted, however, was unfazed. "Kiddo, I couldn't care less about the money. As I said, the owner of this gym is a weirdo who isn't interested in profit," he shrugged, pointing at himself. His nonchalant attitude made it clear that financial gains were low on his list of concerns.

"But I'm guessing your interest in Kord isn't just about scrounging up the money for gym...." he probed, narrowing his eyes knowingly. "You're looking to untangle yourself from the League's apron strings, am I right?" he added, a wide grin playing on his lips, revealing a depth of understanding.

Caught off guard, I couldn't help but admit, "Well, yeah, that's part of it." The thought of perpetually relying on the League's goodwill didn't sit well with me, but there was more to my ambitions. 

"The way I see it, this world is full of opportunities..." I explained, leaning against the gym equipment. "I'm not content being just another face in the crowd. To carve out a piece of success, I need more than just a big mouth and a charming smile – I need the green, and Ted Kord's got plenty of it," I concluded, emphasizing the necessity of financial freedom in my pursuit of self-discovery.

Ted scrutinized me with an intense stare, as if sizing up the legitimacy of my aspirations. After a thoughtful pause, he returned to his trademark grin. "If that's how you feel, who am I to stand in your way?" he declared with a nod of approval.

"Give me a sec, I'll make a call and see what strings I can pull," he added as he pivoted on his heel, heading toward his office.

I nodded in acknowledgment. "Thanks, Ted," I called after him, genuinely grateful for his willingness to help. In his usual nonchalant manner, Ted merely waved without bothering to turn around or acknowledge my gratitude.

...

Sitting at a table outside a cafe, sipping on a cup of coffee, I couldn't help but sigh, thoroughly bored with nothing to do. 

I eyed Rattigan, perched on the table, nibbling on a piece of cheese. The idea of messing with him to break the monotony briefly crossed my mind, but the memory of his teeth sinking into my flesh was enough to quash that impulse. Instead, I sighed, resigned to my uninspiring fate.

To my delight, Ted had returned after his brief absence, bearing news that his contact was on board with introducing me to Ted Kord. The catch? I had to twiddle my thumbs for two days because the person to introduce me to Kord was busy.

When I pressed Ted for more details about this mysterious contact, he deftly sidestepped my inquiries. With nothing better on the horizon, I decided to wander the streets of New York and ended up parked at a café table, nursing a cup of coffee. When in doubt, caffeinate yourself into oblivion, right?

As I sat there, contemplating the mysteries of the universe (or at least my impending meeting with Ted Kord), Rattigan enjoyed his cheese, seemingly oblivious to my existential musings.

Now, for the interesting part. Just as I was weighing the pros and cons of antagonizing my rodent companion for amusement, a distant roar shattered the humdrum atmosphere. Explosions and screams followed suit, abruptly pulling me out of my coffee-induced stupor. 

I swiveled my head towards the source of the commotion and, lo and behold, witnessed a green leopard perched atop a nearby building.

This wasn't your ordinary feline moment, though. It was surrounded by peculiar-looking drones armed to the teeth. Not your typical afternoon in the Big Apple.

The drones, showing a distinct lack of hospitality, peppered the green leopard with bullets. But the leopard dodged and weaved through the onslaught before leaping at the closest drone. And here comes the kicker—mid-air, the leopard morphed into a gorilla, delivering a series of smacks that would put King Kong to shame.

But the show wasn't over. The gorilla turned into a hummingbird, gracefully evading further drone attacks, and then—wait for it—a whale. The colossal sea creature crashed into the remaining drones and the ground, leaving chaos and wreckage in its wake.

Just as it seemed the shapeshifter was about to emerge victorious, a pint-sized man suddenly showed up. 

When I say pint-sized, I'm not exaggerating. The guy was so short he could probably use a ruler as a walking stick. Hovering in the air with what looked like jet boots—every short person's dream, I suppose—he sported a grin as wide as his stature was small.

In the midst of the drone-ridden chaos, as the shapeshifting animal held its ground against the metallic onslaught, a pint-sized hero emerged. I mean really pint-sized. The guy was so short he could probably use a ruler as a walking stick. Hovering in the air with what looked like jet boots—every short person's dream, I suppose—he sported a grin as wide as his stature was small.

With a swagger befitting a much taller individual, he brandished a peculiar, sci-fi-ish gun. "I've got you right where I want you!" he declared triumphantly, aiming the mysterious weapon at the colossal green whale. 

Whatever the gun unleashed, I couldn't quite see, but the effect was immediate. The massive whale morphed back into its original form—Beast Boy, a card-carrying member of the Teen Titans.

"Now even your teen wonder friends can't save you, you dumb animal!" the vertically challenged antagonist gloated, reveling in Beast Boy's obvious agony. It was like watching a short-statured maestro conducting a symphony of chaos.

Grinning at the unfolding spectacle, I realized fate had thrown me a bone—another chance to crush boredom and, hopefully, harvest some well-deserved points. 

"Feel like stretching your legs, buddy?" I asked Rattigan, who responded with an annoyed chitter as if he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of doing anything that was remotely productive.

Despite his reluctance, his gaze suggested he was at least willing to entertain whatever nonsense I was about to spew.

"Well, here's what I need you to do..." I began, outlining my master plan to involve a rodent in my quest for entertainment. 

...

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