Mission Seven: Just Deserts

It was all about to go down in the desert. I had 24 hours to stop it.

“Oh, Audrey can handle it,” I said scooping up bean dip with an ideally-shaped Frito. Crunch!

I was having a fine, relaxing time at the mansion, soaking in the hot tub, being rude to the help (sorry Maya), searching for Sylar’s secret lair. Things were swell, until I was overloaded with text messages from Claire.

omg Dad! West is dying!!!!

save him Dad!!!

nvm i so am over him, let the dork die

plz Dad help him!

hes suffering! like totally!!

can u pick up some ice cream on ur way home?

o no! West!!!

WEST!!!!

There was no time to spare. I had to leave now.

Actually, there was still plenty of time. I decided to catch a movie first, have a barbecue with some of my top clients and harass n00bs on computer help chatrooms.

Now, time was running short. It was time to do what I do best. “Kill people!” I said out loud.

“Bye, Mr. Glasses!” Sylar hollered as I ran out of the mansion. “Remember not to kill anyone important!”

Crap!

It didn’t matter. There were worse fates than death. I know. I’ve been a paper salesman for 15 years. Ever try collating construction paper based on a color pattern?

On the ride over, I prepared my tranquilizer gun. One vial of Claire blood remained. Just enough to save West.

I arrived and leaped out of my Nissan Whatever It Is. Rolling across the desert ground, I could see the fight ahead of me.

Henchmen surrounded Richard Simons, Peter Petrelli, Simon Cowell and Jack Bauer. I’d have to fight my way through them.

There was no sign of West as I started shooting the Putty Patrol.

They had never seen such maneuvering, it was clear by their confused looks. “Hey,” one shouted. “You can’t use a gun. That’s not fair!”

They all turned and ran away. I continued shooting at the fleeing hermaphrodites. As they crossed over the horizon, I began searching for West.

Aha! I spotted him. He was hunched into a Yucca plant. I pulled my tranq gun and fired.

“Yay!” West squealed. “I’m saved!”

But suddenly Richard Simmons shot through the air heading straight for me. He bulleted with a velocity that was a testament to his well-worked leg muscles.

He opened his mouth wide, preparing to take a bite. I quickly jumped out of the way. He crashed into various desert vegetation, creating a fruit salad.

Get it? Fruit salad! Hahaha!

“There’s no time for laughing, Mr. Bennet,” West said running up to me. “Look!”

It was as we feared. Simon had transmorgofied into Voltron Simon. Death was soon to follow.

I pulled out my cell phone as the robotic monster approached.

“Yo, B-Dawg, what it do, yo?” Randy answered.

“I need your help again, R-dawg.”

“Sure thang, G. What the haps?”

“Can you tell me what Simon’s weakness is?”

The mechanical maniac approached barking insults.

“Yeah, man,” Randy replied. “He likes the cheesecake.”

“Cheesecake?” I asked.

“Yeah, dawg. He loves that stuff.”

“Thanks!” I hung up the phone as Randy started asking something about royalties from the boy band he helped me form. “West, fly to the nearest diner, bring back cheesecake. Lots of it!”

He shot off into the air.

“Oh, and West…” I called after him. He floated back. “Hurry,” I said dramatically.

He shot off again.

I had to evade Voltron Simon until West returned. But how? I looked around and noticed Jack Bauer defusing a cactus. It was as though he didn’t realize we had come to fight him. He was in a world of his own, a man on a mission.

I ran back to my vehicle, grabbed three bottles of Southern Comfort and ran toward him. Voltron Simon followed slowly behind.

“Hey, Jack. Bomb defusal works better after a drink of this bomb defusing booster liquid. It’s like a protein shake for secret agents.”

“Oh, really? Thanks!” he started downing the bottles.

Voltron Simon still followed. Fortunately his gigantic weight slowed his movement. Simple rules of physics, it’s what allowed Tom Arnold to divorce Rosanne.

“Peter!” I called out running up the hill toward the Super Emo Dude.

“Hey, Mr. Bennet. How’s Claire?”

“She’s good,” I replied. “So, uh…”

“Yeah…”

“I was just…ya know.”

“So…we have to like fight?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Such pain comes from fighting,” he lifted his hand, ready to Force Push me to my doom. But I had a plan.

I tossed my inflatable decoy behind him and yelled, “Look! Sylar, behind you!”

As he turned, it inflated to fullness, looming over him like a creepy step-dad.

That would keep him busy for hours.

I turned to check on the status of Voltron Simon. He was engaged with an argument with Jack Bauer, now shirtless and throwing cigarettes at the robot.

“Will you stop that?” Voltron Simon yelled down to the drunken agent man. “You’re absolutely pissed. It is rather embarrassing. You are pathetic. My Chihuahua holds its liquor better than you.”

Jack continued tossing cigarettes at the machine’s foot and saying, “You don’t know me! You don’t know what it’s like to save the world! I have to save the world! I have to! I just do it, man!”

West flew over to me, cheesecake in hand. “You’re paying me back, right?”

“No!” I said and snatched the dessert from him.

It was perfect timing. Voltron Simon had finally left Jack Bauer and was heading for me once again. I placed the dessert on the desert floor and said, “Hey, look! Cheesecake!” Then, West and I ran to hide behind a piñon tree.

He approached the cheesecake and lifted it up to his head. The giant Voltron hands fed Simon piece by piece.

I looked around, the situation seemed contained. Peter was telekinetically pushing his punching bag back and forth. Richard Simmons was frolicking in the desert foliage. Jack Bauer was debating the Universe with the flower sticking out of his pants. And Simon Cowell was busy having his cake, insulting it and eating it too.

And just in time too. The clock in the corner of my imaginary screen rolled down to zero.