Hey AAH-
So I got a gig henching for Professor Deatherizer . Things started out great. Solid pay, slick volcano lair, and the best bunch of guys in my deathsquad . But then things went sour. Now none of my coworkers will talk to me and I just don’t feel excited the way I used to, coming into work every morning.
As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, AAH… it’s the raygun. I’m scared of it.
Doc Deatherizer hasn’t assigned us anything special, just the Series-4 Deatomizer, but it still scares the crap out of me. I mean, I have to go to work every day with a pocket nuclear reactor strapped six inches away from my bait and tackle! Every minute I wear that thing, I’m thinking “cancer, cancer, cancer.” I figured I’d just ask my squadmates, “Why can’t I just carry a .45 or something?”
They just looked at me funny and turned away. Now nobody will talk to me. Where’d I go wrong, AAH?
-Scared of sidearm
Dear SOS,
Let me put it to you as simply as I can: your raygun is part of what makes you a henchman. Without it, you’re little more than a common thug. Your squadmates are probably wondering, “What’s he going to suggest next? Trading out his costume for a ski mask? Or perhaps dropping his utility belt altogether?”
Your Deatomizer should command your healthy respect, but not your fear. It’s OK to feel awed about the Series-4’s impressive ability to liquefy a Mack Truck. But the truth is that ray gun injuries exceedingly rare and the scientific studies that claim they cause cancer are highly suspect (mostly from super-science alarmist groups who said the same things about teleporters and cellphones).
As to why your death squad refuses to talk to you, I’m sure they feel that your commitment is lacking. You have to remember that it’s a privilege to carry a raygun, just like it’s a privilege to be a part of Professor Deatherizer’s scheme for a new world order. If a possible risk of early-onset bowel cancer is the price of that privilege, then so be it.
However, it’s my opinion that you’re concerned about the wrong thing entirely. Never forget that any Super worth his spandex will laugh at a .45. You run a much bigger risk of getting pounded into the concrete than finding a lump in your testicles.