|One of our dedicated team of mechanically gifted Unbelievababes changing the tyres on the 'Vette. Honest.|
So we piled into the 'Vette (quite a squeeze, since there are no rear seats, so I just rode on top a la Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf, surfer style) in search of the Ominous Tall Man All Dressed In Black, with scarcely a clue between us as to his possible identity or his whereabouts. All we knew was he couldn't be far away, since (a) he, and others under his influence, were seeking to exterminate us Unbelievables and (2)an unknown caller had recently called us to let us know this fact, supposedly from one of our in-house phones, and had allegedly gotten stabbed in the process, though a security check of the premises turned up nothing pertinent.
"Let's take it block by block, fellas" I called from the roof. "They can't be far away."
Just then, a bullet whizzed by my ear.
"Someone's taking pot shots at us! Step on it!" I cried.
We burned rubber back to the base, then decided to lie in wait for whoever it was that had shot at us.
"B-but hang on," whispered Clark, armed to the teeth as he was with a revolver, a hand grenade, assorted cutlery and a cheese grater, "what if there is somebody inside the base and we just missed it?"
|Not actually Clark.|
"We didn't miss it," growled Michael, strapping on the Lobster Rage Fist and opening the gun locker, "we are The Unbelievables! We stand for truth, justice and hot babes! We protect the world from evil-doers and all that jazz! We don't miss things like that!"
Just then, the phone rang again, followed by a dramatic sting. I could be wrong about that, but I'm sure I heard one.
Michael stepped, towards the phone, then stopped.
"Should I answer it, guys?" he whispered.
What happened next? You'll have to wait till Friday to find out!