Police Chief Saunders
“Not again,” groaned Police Chief Saunders, hand covering his eyes.
“Sorry, sir, but I’m afraid so,” Lieutenant Bay dropped a crisp new edition of the L.A. Times on the chief’s desk. An image of a smoking building proudly displayed on the front page, large chunks of metal and concrete flying high into the sky.
Above the image was printed Michael Bay Man strikes again. “I saved this puppy,” he claims, proudly holding what was clearly a racoon.
“Goddamnit,” swore the chief. “This is the third time this week!”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry we haven’t caught him yet.”
“What’s confusing me the most, lieutenant, is how we keep failing to notice the explosions he’s causing through the city until the newspaper prints them. I mean, they aren’t just made up, are they?”
“According to the morgue, no, sir.”
“Wait, we have bodies in the morgue from him?”
“As of last night, we have some in the offices as well. There’s a bit of an overflow issue.”
“And we still didn’t know it happened?”
“Somehow not, sir.”
“Well, hot damn if he isn’t stealthy.”
“His outfit is made out of pure flame decals and america, sir.”
“What, like it’s covered in them or…?”
The lieutenant produced a polaroid shot of a golden haired man wearing a jumpsuit sewn from an american flag, flaming stickers covering nearly every square inch.
“How have I not seen this before? He’s been loose for nearly three weeks now.”
“We are hopelessly incompetent, sir.”
“Hmm. Yes,” muttered the chief thoughtfully. The suggestion seemed right somehow.
“But why do you have that photograph, lieutenant?”
The lieutenant blushed. “I went to see Transformers.”
“Lieutenant!” admonished the chief.
“Lieutenant!” he repeated, louder this time.
“Sorry,” he said, failing to meet the chief’s eyes.
“This is going to meet a P.R. nightmare.”
“Me or Michael Bay Man?”
“The latter. The former isn’t going to get out, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant saunders with a salute.
“Dismissed then. Send in Detective Pierce.”
The lieutenant left, and the chief sat again in his chair. After a few moments, his squeaking door opened again and in walked Detective Velvet Pierce. No one believed that to really be his first name, but it was on his badge. He walked sure and strong with a bit of a swagger. He wore a long trench coat, forgetting he wasn’t P.I. and a black suit underneath without a tie. Grey smoke puffed from his thin cigarette. “You called?” he asked in his smug voice.
“I’ve asked you to come in here because Michael Bay Man needs to be stopped.”
“Of course, sir. Another rescue?”
“He’s not evil, he’s just really bad at what he does,” matter-of-factly stated the chief.
“Sure, so he needs stopping.”
“And you want me to do it?”
“You’re the best of us, Pierce, if you can’t stop him, then who can?”
“God only knows, sir,” uttered Detective Pierce, looking straight up with a searching gaze.
Michael Bay Man
“America needs me,” uttered Michael Bay Man from the top of an L.A. home. Of course, it wasn’t an apartment building, so he was only about ten feet from the ground. He was standing on his tiptoes for the best view possible.
“Michael Bay Man!” yelled the eight year old boy who lived inside the house.
“Yes,” uttered the jumpsuited hero in the most gravelled voice he could muster.
“Will you sign my face?”
His hair flowed upwards as he jumped from the roof. From his breast pocket, he produced a marker and in bright, orange letters signed the boy’s face. My secret identity is almost as famous as my real one now, he thought to himself. I knew I was making the right decision to save america.
“Thanks, Michael Bay Man. Oh, and my daddy says to go away.” The boy held a hand to his mouth in order to better speak his secret, “but I don’t want you to.”
“That’s nice of you to say, kid.”
“Can you do an explosion before you leave?”
“My powers of explosion aren’t mere playthings. They must only ever be used for good, or if it seems totally bitchin’.”
“Wow!” exclaimed the child in pure admiration.
“Now, I must go,” he yelled, and ran off into the darkness, after about three minutes disappearing from view.
He found where he’d parked his Harley Davidson and quickly mounted it, enjoying the feeling it gave him. A manly feeling. He patrolled the dark streets, looking for injustice to save people from. He saw several police cars and avoided them. They didn’t understand his quest for justice.
“There,” he said to himself, seeing bright lights in the distance. “I’ll explode there.”
Detective Velvet Pierce
“Detective Velvet Pierce,” he said, producing his badge.
“I already addressed you as detective,” asked the young woman at the movie theatre.
“I just wanted to be sure,” he said, smoothing back his dark locks. “I’m going to need a ticket to Transformers 4: Bright Side of the Sun.”
She tapped in some things to the register. “You have to wait in line.”
“I don’t think you understand, miss. This is official police business. I’m researching Michael Bay Man’s suspected alias. Shia Labeouf.”
“Yeah, don’t care. Back of the line.”
The detective presented her with his pistol. “How’s this?” he asked menacingly.
“Dammit, son,” he muttered.
“Back of the line or I’m calling security.”
He grumbled to himself. This was no way to treat a member of the police force, especially not a detective. He left the building in a huff and walked to end of the line to light a new cigarette and brood. He had to weave his way through the myriad of people queued up for the new release. Lights flashed in the sky.
Michael Bay Man
“Stand aside!” yelled the jumpsuited hero to the crowds outside the theater. They ignored him. “Can’t you see there’s danger about?” he asked.
They continued ignoring them, but he didn’t need the public’s attention… constantly. That was when he noticed the man with a gun at his belt. He wore a long trench coat which was held back by his hand, showing fully the holstered gun on his belt.
When he noticed Michael Bay Man, he grabbed at his gun, and then, apparently losing his will, turn to run.
“Afraid of me, huh? Well you should be. Stop right there.”
The man didn’t stop, so the jumpsuited knight concentrated hard and extended his right arm in a fist of american justice, and under the gun wielding maniac, the concrete exploded, sending several different parts of him, blood, and sidewalk flying. The lined up audience began to scream. “No need to yell, I’m only doing my civic duty,” claimed Michael Bay Man Modestly. “Now stand aside!” he yelled, everyone moved, listening to the brave warrior of America.
He ran into the theater, exploding everyone running at him. Justice could not be stopped. He ran into the theater that the terrorist had been waiting to enter. People screamed all around. He knew there had to be more of them. Inside the theater only a few people sat. The film wasn’t rolling yet, and he knew he had to stop them before anyone else came.
Explosions came from every side. The projector burst inwards, the seats flew into the air. His work was done, but just as he left the theater, something hit him hard in the head and he went unconscious.
Police Chief Saunders
“So, it was Michael Bay all along,” muttered Saunders as he stepped into the interrogation room. The criminal was waking up, and it was time for words.
The interrogation went long and hard. Michael Bay refused to admit to his actions or persona, despite his jumpsuit still being proudly worn. Eventually he was carried to the cells, awaiting trial for his crimes.
Michael Bay Man
“The justice of America has fallen”, he said to himself. “No one else can replace me, and injustice will reign.
“Why’s he talking to himself?” one prisoner asked another.
“They’ll never understand,” Michael Bay Man said to himself. “And now my identity is known, my loved ones will be next. Darn the cops. Darn them to heck.”
“Seriously, shut up,” yelled one criminal.
“Justice is served, and not even explosions can help me now. If only the army were here. They’d know what to do.”
“Why can’t you just explode the cell? Isn’t that your superpower or something?” yelled an inmate.
“I can’t,” Michael Bay Man growled.
“For no explainable reason,” he said sadly. “All is lost.”