Intermission

The spastic redhead stood over the machinery that kept his friend alive. He found himself lost in thought by the rhythmic grinding of the iron lung that allowed the biologist to breathe. He glanced at the iron lung; it had the serial number 9 101110 264 11 982 1011 / 3812. Probably unimportant, he thought. He realized how lucky he was to have been shot in the eyes; he recalled how the high-index of refraction lenses in his glasses are touted as being bulletproof. He started to sing, "Picture yourself in a life support station/With needles to feed you and hundreds of pills./Somebody gives him some over-hard Jello/The man with the HOS-pit-al bills."

Suddenly the almond eyes of his injured friend flickered open, and he said, "Please..."

The redhead looked at him in surprise. "Oh, unnamed biologist friend, I shall avenge your injuries. Vengeance will be mine as I hunt down criminals in the guise of....Bombbat!"

The biologist tilted his head up weakly. "Fine. Great. Terrific. Just please...don’t sing!"

"Shhhh....you need rest. Sleep well...while I patrol the streets."

The biologist drifted off to a mechanical sleep while the redhead went into the stairwell to change into the form of....Bombbat!

Then the Electromagnetic Pulse turned off power all over the world.

And the biologist’s life support machines turned off.

And the biologist died.

And the redhead, lacking lights, tripped, fell down the stairs and died.

Not that it matters.