Sam-O was a sidekick and like any sidekick he didn’t have any superpowers, so when Captain Catastrophe asked him to knock down the Mad Pharmacist’s laboratory, he let out a sigh and went back to his trusty AMC Eagle to get some dynamite, that stuff in the cord that goes boom and a nuclear reactor he had been saving for just such an occasion. Sorry, did he say trusty AMC Eagle? He meant rusty and taking a second look at it; he wasn’t sure that was the correct term, either. At this point, the rust was most likely the glue holding the thing together.

He opened the hatch of the car and filled his arms with all the ingredients he had just spoke of. Scuba gear, fire extinguisher, body armor. Where was that explosive cord? Then he remembered he had used it to light up that super villain, No Hands McGee. He shuttered at the memory. That was an unfortunate event. He was lucky he didn’t lose his guild membership that day. He went to close the hatch and a stick of dynamite slipped out from his arms. Everything slowed down. Sam-O was pretty sure that there was enough nitro glycerin in that stick that if it hit the ground, it would turn him and the Eagle into confetti. Well no, the Eagle would probably be fine, any damage of to the rust bucket would be unperceivable to the untrained eye. I mean, how do you dent a dent?

He stuck out his foot to cushion the dynamite’s fall. He had never been good at hacky sack, but now he found himself in the life or death match that he had always dreamed of. Sorry, dreaded. No one dreamed of life or death hack sack games. Except maybe sadistic hippie villains. And those were the best kind of villains. He had to face off against the back when he worked for Commander Thunder Pants. Hippie villains had the best villainous ideas, but they were too lazy to pull them off. The stick of dynamite crept callously toward his foot in its downward spiral. He held his breath and closed his eyes and then opened one when he realized he still needed to see if he wanted to stop its descent. The stick of dynamite hit the ground with deafening thunder, leaving Sam-O’s ears ringing in the silence. His foot was still there, his legs were still there, and they were still attached! He had never been more happy about the deteriorating quality of Sidekick Co’s discontinued merchandise.

He shuffled everything into the cradle of his left arm, picked up the stranded stick of dynamite with his right hand and shook it next to his ear to make sure it wasn’t broken. After realizing that was a bad idea on so many levels, he chucked it back into his arms and headed toward the laboratory.

Captain Catastrophe stood there stoically. “Well, this was a colossal waste of time.”

“I guess you could say it was a catastrophe,” Sam-O said slyly. Catastrophe’s right eyebrow shot up his face, distorting it into a grimace. “Aren’t comments like that the reason Pigeonman fired you?”

Sam-O hung his head. It was. But, in the grander scheme of things, it was probably for the best. Even before he had been fired, he had been having some trouble dealing with cleaning up after the hero’s superpower. “It’s not that bad.”

“Puns are the lowest form of entertainment.”

“What about reality television?”

“Ok, second lowest.” Catastrophe said, through gritted teeth.

“We did capture the evil pharmacist. That has to say something.”

Captain Catastrophe sighed. “He’ll be free before midnight.”

Sam-O looked up at the towering man. “Do you really think so? Sargent Pepper has really done wonders reforming the Leprechaun Leprosy Colony to a supervillain rehabilitations daycare and spa.”

Catastrophe looked down at him. “I meant that he has a really good lawyer. Tomorrow this will be in a blurb in the back pages.”

Sam-O nodded. Catastrophe was right without cameras, or reporters the story would get whitewashed and buried between Aunt B’s Sweet Potato Casserole Recipe and an expose on how to tell if your spouse is cheating by the smell of their socks. Spoiler: they smell like someone else’s laundry detergent. That was one of the main reason that supervillains always had their bases located on a secluded island in the middle of the Pacific or like this one, Kansas. It was a last jab at any superheros who thwarted their plans. You may stop me but there will be no photo op afterward? Muhahaha.

Catastrophe took a look at the Twisted Norman Rockwell scene before him, a farm house, silo and barn, converted to laboratory, missile silo and training compound. “You need any help with this?”

Sam-O was in shock. Catastrophe had never offered to help before. He didn’t know what to say.

“What am I saying?” “You’re Sam-O Blam-O, of course you don’t. See you back at the base when you’re done.” Then he was gone in a puff of dust. The dust being the only sign that he had ever been there.

If Sam-O hadn’t known about Catastrophe’s sub sonic flight ability, he would’ve assumed he had just vanished. “Well,” he sighed. “Better get to it.” He was a thousand miles from the base, he had three buildings to blow up, and his name Sam-O Blam-O was a little more than a moniker bestowed on him by one of his old bosses Gaseous Klay, when he had blamed him for blowing up a bathroom in a Mexican restaurant that required a week of repairs. After that the name had stuck even after everyone forgot the story behind it. Now days people just assumed he was an explosives expert, and he wasn’t about to correct them. In reality, he had no superpowers, be they explosive or otherwise. He was just a guy who had gotten a job through a temp agency in order to pay his bills. He headed toward the silo, hoping whatever was in there would help blow up the other two. This was a twelve hour job, and he needed to be down in six. Catastrophe didn’t pay overtime.

Thirty minutes later he would wake up only remembering setting the first charge and wondering why his hands were glowing green.