Biker Moose from Jupiter Two

June 30, 2018:

Moose Attack.

Rated M for Mature (Strong Language, Cartoon Violence)


Dem Streetz.


NPCs: Bob (Agent of HYDRA), The Biker Moose from Jupiter Two (Burnout, Skid and Exhaust)

Mentions: Thanos

Mood Music: Highway to Hell

Fade In…

"Alright, alright! Quiet on the set!"

There are hundreds of people milling about like this is some sort of television program or movie set. It's pretty dang crowded on the mean streets of Brooklyn right now. Of course, this /is/ New York. So it's always crowded.

Minus a single green uniformed idiot named Bob holding an old school video camera, there's nothing else that really stands out on this street… except for, y'know, the giant black and red director's chair that's comically large and looks like it was made for The Incredible Bulk! The words: 'Deadpool Too: It's Electric!' have been masking taped onto the back of the chair in random letters cut out from magazines and newspapers…


"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Deadpool screams through his mask and through the oversized bullhorn that he's using to get the attention of all these Extras (they're actually just innocent New York citizens) that are missing their marks (actually, just doing whatever they want because they are not involved in this craziness.)

"Are you going to argue with me this entire Event?" Deadpool narrows his masked eyes at the person typing this right now. Also: Gun.

… Okay, then. Back to the Event.

"THANK YOU!" Deadpool leans back in his Director's Chair of Awesome and crosses his legs. He looks at his Strawberry Shortcake Pocket Watch and puts on a horrible accent, "GUVNAH! TIS ALMOST TIME! IS EVERYTHING READY, PIPPIN'? CHEERIO!"

Bob (from HYDRA?) looks over at Deadpool and offers a thumbs up. "Rolling, DP!"
Deadpool's voice is back to normal. "Alright. Let's get this show on the road. So people don't have to stay up past midnight for this… ACTION!"

Nothing Happens.

20 Minutes Later…

Nothing Happens.

One Hour Later…

"Okay, nevermind. This is boring. Take five, idiot! Let's grab a latte!" Deadpool hops down from his director's chair and skips over to Bob, hooking his arm in his and yanking out one of his guns and together they skip into the Starbucks on the corner.

Almost as if fate were playing a cruel joke on Deadpool (and his Green Bob), the sounds of oversized motorcycles comes from above. Smoke and dust and beer cans lead the way for at least a couple dozen giant sized moose, with pierced antlers and tattoos and dressed as stereotypically biker as a rip-off of an old 90s cartoon could be.

There are three specific moose aliens that touch down with their /hogs/ first. Their weirdly colored fur seems to point in the direction of 'alien creatures'. Also the flying motorcycles. Oh and the antennae peeking up from between their antlers. They stop their bikes in the middle of the street, uncaring about any particular traffic jam that they are making worse. After all, they're here for a reason.

If this were a cartoon or something, the leather vests they are wearing help to make it easier for the kids at home to pick out which is which, with the patches that say their names on them. But this is a MUSH so we're going to have to do it a little different.

The one on the right, he's the biggest and the most musclebound. He's got an attitude the size of his biceps… and probably a brain the size of not his bicep. Whoever ends up fighting him is gonna' know why his biker buds call him: Exhaust.

The one on the left is slimmer and sexier… if you can believe it. Mirrored sunglasses, pierced antlers and a smile as charming as his leaned back pose on his bike is, this speedster space moose is called: Skid.

And finally, in the middle, the smirk on his moose-iful features is so devil may care he might as well be part demon. But when he reaches up to pull off his tinted sunglasses, it becomes obvious that he's the one that's running this entire operation. Hold your horses, ladies, because this mother mooser right here is: Burnout.

He runs a hand through his antennae and waits as wave after wave of Biker Moose land behind him and his boys. All of them carrying weapons of all shapes, sizes and ammo. Some look normal and some look alien. Either way, it's about to go down. Soon as Burnout gives them the signal.

Y'know, after we give time for everybody to entrance pose…

Brooklyn. It's about as far as Owen gets from his hometown of Gotham, at least without a directive from Amanda Waller. And what brings the former Captain ranked villain to this particular borough?

Clutched in the hands of a very confused and hungover Owen is a gold leaf embossed invitation offering him a coveted walk on role in something called "Tony Romeo and Deadpooliette". What that exactly means he's not sure, but at the very least it will serve as a distraction. And Owen could really use a distraction from the nuclear wasteland that is his life right now. So, what the hell, he's here wandering around trying to find the place without the aid of his phone, which is recuperating as well from the events of last night.

He's not dressed for action. He's not prepared for much of anything, let alone alien motorcyclists that resemble large mammals.

"I really have only myself to blame for this. Why? Why the hell did I think this was going to be anything even remotely better than this?"

The Martian Manhunter hasn't been seen much at all in recent times — both within the Justice League and outside of it, as well. The events of the last six months have unsettled the old Martian soul, and so a well-deserved break of meditation, far from Earth — in a separate realm entirely, to be precise — is just what the doctor ordered.

But he's back now, as much because he feels an obligation to the planet he now calls home as much as the hope that the timeout has cured him of whatever ails him. In the Watchtower, high above Earth, he watches the monitors with attentiveness. He is not alone in the room, but when the alarms sound, the man occupying the room with him busies himself pulling cameras up, pressing buttons, alerting the network. Finally: "Brooklyn," he says.

That's all J'onn J'onzz needs. He's gone in a flash, not even bothering with the niceties of using the transport — just phasing through the wall, out into space, arrowing down towards he ground. There's a crack of sound as he hits the pavement several feet in front of the bikers, his cape whipping around him dramatically. He's certainly something to behold, in his full Martian appearance — standing near seven foot, his muscled green skin and red eyes mark him as alien even if the flying in from outerspace didn't.

He holds up a single hand palm outstretched towards the leader. "Hold, invaders! I am the Martian Manhunter, Defender of Earth. What business have you here?" His voice holds no inflection — which also means there's no overt threat in the words. It could even be taken as invitation, though he's not bearing any tea, so maybe not.

The Biker Moose from Jupiter Two rev the engines on their bikes because some Mars looking foolio has just decided to get all up in their grills. They look ready to rush the Martian and everything and everyone that's in their path… but a hand up from Burnout has them all staying put. He's got them well trained.

Burnout rolls his eyes and hooks his sunglasses on his biker vest, just beneath his embroidered name. Because, y'know, get it? It's a gang. Of Biker Moose. HAHA!

"Oh look. It's a Martian. But it damn sure ain't my favorite one!" Burnout cracks up at his own joke and holds a hand out for Skid to slap it. The laughter goes on for a quick moment before a sign from Burnout cuts it.

"Look here, Green Bean. This ain't nothin' t' be concernin' you. We moose is here on official business. From our boss' boss. The biggest and baddest mammajamma you ever did see." Burnout swings a leg off his bike and stands up nice and tall. Not quite as tall as the Martian but that's okay. Because he's standing his ground.

Skid and Exhaust climb off their bikes too. They got their biker buddy's back.
Burnout pops a toothpick into his mouth as he approaches the Martian. "Now I ain't gonna' say his name cuz you already know who I'm talkin' 'bout. But I will give you one chance, and one chance only, to tell me and my boys what we need to know. Or…"

Skid and Exhaust take their sweet time following after Burnout, looking around at the humans and menacing them with snarls and smirks. Exhaust pounds a heavy fist into his palm when he spots Owen. Just for some odd reason. Skid, on the other hand, makes a 'call me' gesture to a random Earth girl. He heard they were easy.

Burnout's focused on the Martian but still got his entire gang under control. "… we burn this planet to the ground." Burnout snaps his fingers and every single one of his gang hops off their bikes like they're ready to go to war.

"So. Here's the million moosebuck question…" Burnout grins, figuring he's got this whole thing sewn up. He just rocked that monologue.

"Where's the Babysitter?"

Oh good. An actual hero. Well, it looks like Gumby in a cape has got this thing covered considering he just smashed down out of space and is addressing them all authoritatively. But maybe he needs some encouragement.

"You got this space bro. Jus' tell 'em nicely to fuck back to space. That'll totally work. I'm sure!"

Owen gives Martian Manhunter a very not reassuring thumbs up and nod and is about to be on his way when one of them starts to make vague threatening motions at him. Owen takes sniffs and takes a sip of his heavily whiskey laced coffee before silently pointing to himself and asking 'Me?' before looking over his shoulder expecting to see another hero standing there.

Seeing that it is very likely that the Moose did in fact mean to threaten him Owen rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs. "No! No killing Owen! It's like the first rule of earth. Well.. okay, fine. It's my first rule but it's one I'm rather fond of."

J'onn weathers the laughter without a change of expression. When it is done, he says: "I have heard the Marvin-the-Martian jokes many times, and I have watched the show, though I confess I still don't comprehend the joke. It clearly has no basis in reality. It does not even look anything like a true Martian." Perhaps the Manhunter is offended. If he is, it isn't obvious in the timbre of his voice, wholly uninflected.

His head tips, a pure, human affectation he has obviously learned, since there's no accompanying crease of brow to accompany the attempt at portraying curiosity. "I'm afraid I'm unaware of this… Mammajamma. I assume from your inference she is something to be feared. Yet the fact that I do not recognize her name suggests otherwise."

Something wholly changes in the Martian's demeanor when the bikers threaten to burn Earth. It's obvious, because J'onn's entire body moves, drawing himself straighter. "That is unacceptable. You will return to whatever planet you came from, and…"

Where's the Babysitter?

The Martian stares, presumably blankly, at the Bikers. Owen, because he's helpfully provided some supporting commentary, receives a look from J'onn. It's hard to interpret, because he's not exactly given to the normal physical cues humans give each other when they're non-verballing asking someone else, 'dafuck', but maybe it can be inferred from his silence all the same.

"Wrong answer, McMartian."

Burnout Tannen takes a step back and away from the Martian because he's about to snap his fingers. He even takes his sweet time doing it too because it's ever so more dramatic. He raises his hand up and just holds it there for a moment, his fingers pressed together in snap formation.

Exhaust looks ready to pounce. The big dumb muscle moose just waiting to hear that sound as he looks like he's revving himself up. Like he's his own bike or something. It's awkward but he's ready.

Skid, of course, is in the middle of getting that Earth girl's number written on his arm. So he's only halfway paying attention when Burnout gets into position. Could be another reason that Burnout is stalling on snapping those fingers. Or maybe he's just trying to give the Martian another chance to give him the info they came for. Oh, good, finally Skid is back into his position. Half-snarling and half-winking. He's a complicated moose.

"Alright, you mooseheads." Burnout snaps his fingers. "Light it up."

One of the random biker moose flips a switch on a boombox and Highway to Hell starts blasting louder than it should be able to from a boombox. It's loud enough to create some background noise for everyone as they start rushing for anything and everything that they can get their hands on.

Everything and anything that's not people. For reasons unknown, the Biker Moose from Jupiter Two are on a mission to destroy this Brooklyn block like nobody's business. Windows get smashed. Cars get flipped. Candy gets snatched from babies. CHAOS ENSUES.

Exhaust, though, wants a piece of the smarmy mother earther that's got alcoholic coffee. "YOU!" And Exhaust takes off running at Owen with the speed of a One Moose Stampede. ANTLERS DOWN.

The Martian's going to have to become a Moosehunter because Skid has leaped up with more grace than a space moose should have, flipping in mid-air and flings some laser pistol shots in the Martian's direction. "Don't have a cow, Martian! HAHAHAHA!"
Burnout, of course, takes this time to try and disappear into the chaos. He's got a babysitter to find.

See it's all light hearted poking fun at the aliens until they start trashing yet another borough of New York City. And then something inside Owen just snaps. His eyes darken and with a speed that most people of this planet can't even see he produces a folded boomerang from his boot and throws it at the marauding moose. It's razor sharp and would carve through a moose of this world with little trouble. Turns out Jupiterian moose may be able to talk and ride motorcycles but they are just as susceptible to being cut in half by razor sharp boomerangs.

Owen catches the returning bloody boomerang with his left hand, his right being occupied with his coffee still, which he chucks at the oncoming Exhaust. It's not hot enough to do damage but it might give Owen the time he needs to jump up and grab onto the antlers. Because the best idea he has at the moment is to try and ride the moose? Sure. Good idea Owen.

"I'm going to cut off your head and mount it on the wall like a good ol' southern redneck and tell my gran-chillun bout the time their Pappy Boomerang murdered countless alien moose with nothing but a razor boomerang and a hangover."

The moment of incomprehension passes. They are tearing shit up. "That is not… cool," J'onn J'onzz says, more than half to himself.

He's got to work on his superhero speech game, clearly. He's already lurching towards one of the moose-ers — the heading towards a baby — reaching out a hand to clasp the back of his jacket, flinging him away from the car-strapped baby he was heading towards and instead sending him sailing across the street towards a sign advertising low-cost business space, inquire within.

Thusly occupied, the Martian's first awareness of a Skid's antics is when one of the lasers goes slicing through his thigh and cape. The Martian turns, looks. There's nothing human or comprehensible in the Manhunter's expression, and he's wholly focused on Skid, now. Which might be a bad idea.

For Skid, anyway.

The green alien's lifting off into the air, speeding towards the Moose-biker, dodging this way and that to avoid further laser strikes. He looks intent on closing the distance between them at speed — like he's going to use his own body as a veritable battering ram. "I don't understand the reference to cows. I, indeed, do not own one, nor do I intend to."

"Whoa! Like uh… chillax, man! I was just kiddin' around! Haha! See? Pew pew?" Skid tries to make it seem like he wasn't trying to cause trouble and even mimes firing his laser pistol again. "Ah, y'know, I didn't have the safety on, man. I didn't know it was loaded? Uh, oh!" Skid throws his arms out in fron of him and closes his eyes "… I'm sleep shooting. I don't know what I'm doing. Zzzzzzzz!"

Skid's mouth is running fifty miles a minute in an attempt to try and keep the Martian focused on him because there's a squad of Biker Moose Minions swarm-rushing in his direction to try and get the drop on the Martian if he ges too close to Skid.

Skid the Staller is back in action.

As far as Exhaust goes, he's trying to deal with a tiny human person that's managed to ge up and around his antlers. He's already angry because he just got coffee'd in the face and that's just not fun. He's burning but he's also an alien moose so he's trying to save face. He growls and snarls, bucking around as much as possible to see if he can't get this bastard off him. "Get off me, you bastard!" See? Exhaust growls again and catches Skid out the corner of his eye, "Bro! Bullwinkle me!" … And Exhaust starts running. Backwards.

Whatever he's planning, probably can't be good.

While some of his Biker Moose Brothers are getting razor'd and thrown into advertisements, even though they are not hurting any Earth civilians more than just destroying their property, Burnout seems content to duck into a crawl space between buildings and focus his attention on a communication device that he's trying to make work. It's all fuzzy and black and white but it seems to be working. A little bit. "Hey Boss. It's Burnout. Hey, we ain't gonna' be able to find this Babysitter so quick like, y'know? This Earth dump? BILLIONS and BILLIONS of little human bastards…"

Now that he is riding the large moose like creature Owen has the time to re-evaluate his plan, or what constitutes a plan for Owen. Yea, this one sucks too. He looks around and has about enough time to yell, "I'm on a moose!" before he's moving the wrong direction and they are calling out weird cartoon based sex positions.

"Oh no! I am not getting roped into that one again!"

Owen may not have many things he won't do, but that is apparently one of them. And so he jumps off the reversing moose and tumbles to the ground. With a little time to realize that the moose aren't actually murdering people and just causing a bit of a distraction of some sort Owen changes tactic.

"Wait. Why do you need an underage girl? Because we don't do that. Or at least, like, we shouldn't but some creepers do. And mini green giant over there ain't gonna condone that shit." Because sadly Owen hears babysitter and he's thinking of what that means in terms of people looking for something else. "But why are you looking for one?" Aww, look at him, using his words instead of weaponized sticks to try and resolve a situation.

The distraction seems to be working. At least, the Martian continues to close with Skid, seemingly immune to his stalling attempts to portray the innocent. His red eyes narrow, seeming to gleam for a moment — and just before he makes contact with Skid, one, two, three of the Moosemen go slamming into the Martian from the side, sending him spinning off course.

But only for a moment.

An incomprehensible noise comes from the Martian's throat, and this time, there is no civil talk. He dives back towards the nearest minion, gripping his arm. For a moment, it seems like the alien's going to pull the minion into a hug, but then he spins, turns, and throws the man away like one would a javelin — straight towards the nearest interstate.

The second minion fares a little better-by-comparison — he gets punted into one of the moose bikes that is parked, causing a cascade of some of the bikes parked a little too close to each other. The crash and thudding of metal reverbrates through the air, even as the Martian's trying to corral the third minion.

That's about when J'onn seems to become aware of the others — the others causing chaos down on the city streets. Another sound, like a roar, escapes him, and he's diving — the last, lucky, minion and Skid alike forgotten for a moment, as he swoops in to save a young family cowering in their car from the biker attempting to smash their windows.

Exhaust waves his hands wildly when Owen throws his balance off escaping. "Hah! Works every—" CLANG! The clumsiest muscle moose trips over his own feet, falling backwards and smashes his head into the fire hydrant. Which, of course, cracks wide open and there goes the water! It's spraying moose! Hallelujah, it's spraying moose!

Skid is ducked down into a cower of courage(?). When he's not knocked into the middle of next event, he uncovers his arms from his head and realizes that there's nobody trying to take him out. The Martian has taken off to help others. "Damn." Skid stands up straight and brushes himself off, wincing at the impacts of his Moose Brothers since the Martian's manhandling of them. "Yeah, you better fly away!" Skid saves a little bit of face before he makes a run for his bike.

Burnout looks up from his communication device and over at Owen. He looks like he's about to throw a punch but then just shrugs. "Listen. We ain't come down here to hurt you freaks. We're just getting paid to find the Babysitter. Thanos wants it. Whatever it is." Burnout looks around at the chaos that's going down. "And what Thanos wants, Thanos gets. Or we get… dead." Burnout is still waiting on some communication back. "You peel me, frog?" Oh lord. The space moose is trying to earth slang.

Chaos continues, even though as some of the moose are picked off, the others start to calm down with their attacking and destruction. Others peel off from whatever they were breaking to tend to their bikes. "MY BIKE!" comes almost collectively as the Biker Moose from Jupiter Two find themselves rushing towards the line of bikes that have been wrecked by Moose Throwing Martians!

Owen watches the chaos unfolding around him and is able to at least relax that it's nothing like the far too recent scene in Hell's Kitchen. Which means thats he's actually willing to chat up the moose, though he's also ready to pull out a knife and chop off it's head if it comes to that. He's had a rough day.

"Where is the babysitter? Who is the babysitter? … WHy is the babysitter.. important to Thanosh?"

Obviously Owen has a lot of questions. And he glances around at the scene, "Ye should've just come down and bought a couple people some beers and asked around. You'd be surprised how often that works." It's not bad advice per say, but maybe Owen just wants someone to buy him a beer and a shot right now.

The Martian Manhunter, normally a creature of reason and logic — rather than emotion — seems rather absent of said virtues tonight. Having seen off the window-smashing moose, with a stalking posture that is more emotional than he is normally given to, his head turns towards where Burnout and Owen are talking, for just a beat. One would think he of all people would sympathize with the absurd difficulty of learning Earth slang.

And then the green figure is moving again, this time towards where the respective mooses are gathering at their bikes, almost like he's trying to corral them, minus one sheepdog, determined stalking possibly giving them time to escape. Or possibly just to ratchet up the drama of his eventual arrival.


Burnout looks around at the craziness that he's caused and stands up straight. He plugs his mouth with his fingers and whistles loudly. All at once, the Biker Moose from Jupiter Two stop everything they're doing. The ones that haven't been knocked the eff out or stabbed to death by razor sharp toys. It's been a crazy one this time.

Burnout turns his attention back to Owen. "Wait. This planet has beer?"

Burnout gives another signal to wrap it up and the Biker Moose start climbing on their bikes and getting themselves ready to ride.

"Grab a bike. Take us to this beer. And maybe we can work this out so nobody has to get dead." Burnout turns the communication device outward and starts shoving it back into his vest pocket. On the screen, though, is a glowing bright light and the words; 'Ba'Bi Sitaire' blinking underneath it. Y'know, in case anyone's paying attention to THE CLUE.

Skid reaches for Exhaust and starts dragging him by his antlers towards the bikes. "Stupid heavy musclebound moosehead…" Skid mutters as he's always the one that has to clean up after Burnout's messes. He's the pretty one. He shouldn't have to do this! When he passes by the Martian, Skid grins, "No hard feelings, huh, Marty?" And then he's back to dragging.

'And that's how gran-pappy Boomerangs raging alcoholism saved the world kids. Now stop trying to bite each other and get me another whiskey.' Owen mentally imagines himself telling an altogether different version of this tale now, though he's not sure why he's still Southern in this one too.

"Hells yea."

Owen has the good sense to both agree to the terms of the cease fire and to pay attention to whatever whackadoo alien device this moose is carrying. He looks for a bike but makes sure to head first for Martian Manhunter.

"Yo. Lime Superman. They ain't looking for a babysitter. They want the Ba-Bee Sitt-aire? I don't know what the hell that is, but maybe you fancy hero folks can figure that out while I go drink these Moose under a table somewhere." Owen considers calling Harley for backup. Because there is no one better at unexpectedly drinking people under the table than her. Fine and he misses her. Whatever, don't get weird about it.

The Mooseheads are in retreat. There should be satisfaction. Instead there is a glowering, stalking pacing from the Martian Manhunter, determined to make sure they are indeed, leaving peacefully.

Skid earns himself a level stare. "Leave. Now!" the Martian growls, fingers flexing. Maybe he just really objects to being called Marty.

He doesn't seem to have noticed that Owen seems to have thrown his lot in with the extraterrestrial bikers, mercifully, before the man approaches him. Unlike before, there is nothing still, calm and considered about the Martian, his reddened gaze turned on Owen sharply. "My name is J'onn J'onzz," he corrects, though to most ears it just sounds like 'John Jones', which is probably a weird name for an alien but whatever. At least it's not John Doe. His fingers flex, release. "I shall investigate. I hope your liver is a strong one, fellow hero," he says, presuambly by way of farewell.

Burnout leads the way to the bikes and climbs on his and one by one they start up in a chorus of rehearsed antics of starting up bikes in controlled unison. There are some parts missing because there are some moose missing but it's all good. It still sounds pretty fly for a space moose.

Burnout puts his shades back on and looks over at Skid, who still has a knocked out Exhaust on his lap. He nods but it is an annoyed nod. And then he looks over to the right because that's probably where Owen is, since he's leading the way.

"Alright. Antlers Up!" Burnout revs his bike. "Let's ride!"

"Sounds good John John." It's not that Owen means to mangle the name, it's more like it just rolls off the tongue like that, and Owen is not very precise with naming anyway.

And with that he heads over towards the gang of moose and says "Now I warn you, we're deep in hipster country so it's going to be like ninety percent IPAs, but if you're willing to trust me I bet we can find something drinkable." Only aliens this new to earth could ever think trusting Owen Mercer is a good idea.

Well, at least 'John John' is better than 'Marty'. Marginally so.

There is always things to do in the aftermath of a battle. Things to right, citizens to assist, unconscious moosemen from outerspace, and irrepressible rage to deal with. J'onn J'onzz, thankfully, is part of an organization which means he can call for help on most — even if not all — of such things, though red gaze does shift to track the retreating bikes as he issues orders to the watchtower, far above. "Make sure you track the bikes. I do not believe we want to lose these ones."

When all is said and done, the door to the Starbucks opens up and out comes Deadpool and Bob, Agent of Hydra. Bob's sipping some tea and Deadpool's sipping his latte through his mask. Because he's just that, well, Deadpool.

"Heeeeeeey. Waiiiiiiiiit a minute." Deadpool stops in the middle of the street, looks around and then scoops up a shiny nickel. He leans over to Bob as he tucks it away. "For the swear jar."

While Deadpool is oblivious, Bob is staring at all of the carnage like it's the worst thing that's happened to him this week. "Uhhhhh…"

Deadpool frowns beneath his mask. "Ugh. Wait, what is that—- Bob? Bob, did you shower?" Deadpool throws up a little in his mask. "Oh god. You smell like wet moose. Ew! Ew ew ew!" Deadpool throws his latte in Bob's face, flails his hands and takes off running. Leaving Bob in the middle of the street.

… Just as the NYPD rushes in from all sides. Sirens blaring and guns hot.


Bob sighs, drops his tea and just puts his hands on the back of his head and sighs.

"… Here we go again."

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