The Last Days of Mr. Right

The things that could be learned about the true nature of Mr. Right weighed very heavily on Bill Rush's mind. What if they found out where and how he had gotten his powers? If they knew that his powers came from constant infusions of a chemical forcibly drawn from the brains of hard working people, simply called "Juice" by the scientists who discovered it, the public would turn against him. It was inevitable. They would see him as a cannibal instead of a savior. Every month a few people from the unemployment line came up missing and no one was the wiser. They were taken from different parts of the country so as to curtail suspicion. People who listed their former occupations as steelworkers or construction workers were the best. They worked so hard that the chemical was strong in their brains. It was unfortunate that they had to be killed in order for the chemical to be collected, but you couldn't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

Bill Rush, as one of the President's oldest friends and business associates, volunteered to receive the infusions of the Juice. The effect was immediate. His muscle mass increased exponentially. He went from being tall and slim to being an impossibly large mass of throbbing muscle. As Mr. Right, Bill Rush became, if not indestructible, incredibly resilient. Bullets fired from handguns stung slightly, but they did no real damage. He could be hurt, but it took some effort. An unexpected power from the Juice was the ability to fly. The American working man was strong and very tough, but none of them could fly, that they knew of. One of the scientists explained it that possibly the fact that such high concentrations of the chemical, and from so many different people, were at work in Mr. Right's system, things were possible that normally were not. Maybe uniting the chemical components of the working people of America gave Mr. Right the ability to achieve what was once thought impossible.

It was as good an explanation as he was likely to get. Mr. Right didn't worry about it too much, though. As long as they kept the Juice coming and he kept his powers he didn't care what caused it to happen. Break those eggs, boys. Break those eggs.

Oh, there was so much dirt. The tax evasion, the offshore bank accounts, the illegal (and technically unpatriotic) outsourcing, the domestic abuse, the affair, the abortion, the drug addiction.

Mr. Right had been addicted to painkillers from the first few days since receiving his powers. The physical changes wrought upon his body were agonizing. His entire physical being reshaped itself according to the chemical commands of the Juice and he felt as if he were being torn apart. The doctors prescribed painkillers to help him get through the early pain. It was to be expected, this pain, and they were ready for it. The trouble was that even after the pain had completely gone away, Mr. Right continued taking the pills. He had acquired a pretty serious habit, considering the amount of pills he needed to accommodate his new body mass. When the doctors realized that he was out of control, they cut him off, cold turkey. He thought he would die. The withdrawal was pure Hell.

Instead, he forced Louisa, his illegal alien maid, to go out on the street and buy his drugs for him. Together they hid his drug abuse from the doctors. Mr. Right constantly threatened to have Louisa deported when she expressed concern for his well being or at her possibility of getting caught. He would just tell her, "Take your wetback ass downtown and find some niggers. They'll have drugs. Do it!"

In her fear, Louisa did just that.

Mr. Right was wondering if Louisa had talked to anyone. Maybe she had let the cat out of the bag about the drugs and that's how the reporter had known. Whether she had or not, Louisa was too big a risk to allow. She would have to disappear. Deportation wouldn't work either. She had to die. The President had people who could take care of that for him. Louisa would just have to be found dead of an overdose down in the ghetto where she always went to buy the drugs. That should solve that problem.

These were Mr. Right's primary concerns, even though the man's words about the AAATA were also completely true. The American public simply would not believe that their two greatest heroes, Mr. Right and the President, could be behind the horrendous attacks. It was unthinkable. No one would believe it, even if "proof" came out. The President had a full time staff that took care of discrediting anyone who stumbled onto the truth and brought it to the public's attention.

Mr. Right and the President had planned the Disney attack, the bombings in Walmart, and the McDonald's poisonings right there in Oval Office. The people who carried out the attacks were on the payroll of Rush International's parent company, The McCarthy Group.

The McCarthy Group was a huge, yet little known corporate monolith. It was made up of defense contractors, security corporations, oil companies, print and broadcast media outlets, and Rush International, a company whose sole purpose was to absorb and destroy other companies. Bill Rush was a predator of the highest order. A smaller company inside the McCarthy Group, also owned by Rush, was the one that made the toys and other Mr. Right merchandise in the South American sweatshops.

A flush resounded from inside the President's bathroom and the door opened. The President stepped out and quickly shut the door behind him. "Whatever you do, don't go in there for a few minutes."

The President walked across the room to his desk and retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair. "Ready to go speak to the nation?"

"Sure, let's get this over with," Bill Rush said, pulling the mask back over his face.

The President led the way to the office door and Mr. Right, with his excellent powers of perception, noticed a piece of toilet paper trailing from the President's shoe. "Mr. President, wait!"

The President stopped and turned around as Mr. Right stooped and pulled the errant toilet tissue from his shoe.

"Thanks, Bill! That sure would have been embarrassing if I'd walked out there like that!" the President said with a smile.

Before dropping it in the wastebasket, Mr. Right read the words printed on the President's toilet paper. It read: "We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect…"

Blah blah blah.

'Nothing important', Mr. Right thought, crumpling the tissue into a wad and discarding it.

Chapter Five

Rush Manor

The next day…

Bill Rush sat in front of his giant screen television, watching in disbelief as Americans poured into the streets in protest of the President and Mr. Right. There was always, and would always be, dissent in regard to the President. A small bit was allowed in order to keep the swarming accusations of fascism appearing baseless. But no one had ever insinuated even the slightest hint of disillusionment with Mr. Right. The man was a hero for Christ's sake. What were they thinking? The American public loved Mr. Right. He stood for all Americans. Right? What the hell was wrong? No one had ever said a word when he had beat up on the liberal scum before. There must have been something that changed their minds.

It had to be that piece of shit asking the questions in the Rose Garden. Everyone up until then had had the common decency not to ask those kinds of questions. That guy with the microphone gun really stirred things up.

"Asshole!" Rush bellowed in frustration and anger.

From the next room he could hear the shattering of another coffee cup. Laura was so jumpy these days that anytime he raised his voice she would cringe and curl into a fetal position. Of course, the bitch had it coming. And now, she was going to get it again for breaking the coffee cup. Lord help her if it was one of the new Mr. Right mugs.

But the beating could wait. There were bigger fish to fry.

On one news channel there was video from New York City of Mr. Right being burned in effigy by an angry mob. There were signs waving calling for the impeachment of the President and a few that said, "FREE RON MOODY!" The protestors were livid and several of them were calling Mr. Right out, daring him to come to New York and kill them.

Be careful what you wish for, Bill Rush thought. Be very careful.

This Ron Moody fellow must be the microphone gun guy. This could really mean trouble. They wanted Ron Moody freed and that just wasn't going to happen. Like many others before, Ron Moody "got disappeared". After addressing the nation on live television to tell everyone that the President was okay, Mr. Right and the President went down into the basement and worked the reporter over. The man never gave his name, but it was obvious that he wasn't Helen Grover, like it said on his press pass. His face had been cut and pasted into the photo spot on the pass and no one even gave it a second look. Why would they? There was nothing to worry about. Everyone loved the President. Everyone loved Mr. Right. To not love them was downright un-American. Ron Moody was downright un-American.

That's why Mr. Right killed him.

When he was delivering the fatal blows it never occurred to him that anyone would cry out against it. No one would worry that the man who "attempted to kill the President" was dead. Mr. Right thought he might even receive another medal and some more endorsements for taking out that liberal scumbag.

And now this.

Chicago had an equally large protest going on. As did Los Angeles, Dallas, Milwaukee, Indianapolis, Detroit, and San Francisco. All the large cities had something going on. The small cities had smaller demonstrations. The little towns were all just sort of talking about what was going on in the big towns.

Somehow, everyone was pissed at him. The President was really going to have to work to save Mr. Right's ass this time. Rush wondered if perhaps he had allowed Mr. Right to step over the line once too often. Maybe he had gone too far this time. Maybe there was a better way to go about punishing this Ron Moody guy. Something not so drastic. Some way that was fair and took the man's right's into consideration.

Rush immediately scolded himself for thinking like liberal scum.

On another news channel a large group of protestors stood outside of the Rush International headquarters, burning another dummy of Mr. Right as it hung from a noose. They were screaming for blood, just like everyone else. They wanted answers. They wanted accountability. They wanted justice.

They were shit out of luck.

Ron Moody was dead and he wasn't coming back. And if things kept going the way they were looking, a lot more people would be dead very soon. The President might have qualms about taking down such large-scale protests, but Mr. Right certainly didn't. All he needed was the permission to fly into these cities and kick ass. Surely the good Americans would allow that. The majority of the people would support that. Hell, they might even help. These demonstrations were probably scaring people and showing everyone why they needed to support the President's new anti-terror legislation. Just think, what if all these protestors were in the AAATA?

Rush had a little chuckle at that, pleased to have found the silver lining on this particular dark cloud. It was a long shot, but just maybe these protests would galvanize the President's and Mr. Right's true supporters and turn things back around. After all, these had to be isolated incidents. What about all the people who weren't protesting? While most of the non-protestors might not be supporters, they were the next best thing.

Apathetic.

American apathy was one of the greatest allies for the President. Not only did it help him reach office in the first place, it helped him be able to carry out his will virtually unchallenged. These new protestors were loud, but they were still the minority.

'This can't really be this bad can it?' Rush thought as he flicked the clicker around the dial. On just about every station he found some kind of negative press about himself or the President. It was depressing. Despite all of his rationalizing, Rush still felt like America was beginning to hate him. And to think, after all he had done for the country.

For instance, when he stopped the earthquakes a few days after the President took office.

There had been a huge uproar and controversy following the President's election. It really was a very minor thing and nothing to be upset about, but the liberals blew it all out of proportion. Mr. Right could grudgingly admit that the President didn't technically win the election, but he still couldn't see what everyone was so upset about. If some people didn't have enough vision and love of their country to realize that the Supreme Court knew what was best for them, than that was their problem, not his. The President may have lost the election, but he still ended up in office, so all was well. But there was a spot of trouble.

A series of small tremors had begun in Virginia the day after the election and had gradually increased in intensity until, a few days later, they really cut loose into a full-scale earthquake. The scientists pinpointed ground zero of the earthquake as Charlottesville, Virginia. Then they refined their information and discovered it was coming from Monticello, the historical home and burial site of Thomas Jefferson. The disturbance seemed to be emitting directly from Jefferson's grave.

Armed with nothing but a shovel, Mr. Right dug down into the grave and exposed the coffin in the ground. It bounced around madly, as if barely containing the kinetic motion inside. Dirt trickled back into the grave from all the shaking and soon Mr. Right was buried up to his knees in loose grave dirt. He had to make his move.

Bravely, Mr. Right gripped the lid of the coffin and flung it open.

Inside, Jefferson's moldering corpse spun in violent revolutions, like a slab of meat on a high horsepower spit. The body was little more than bones, desiccated flesh and hair, but the spinning was so fierce that it was causing the earth to shake all up and down the eastern seaboard. The tremors were felt as far away as Illinois. No one knew how large the quake would get if it were left to it's own devices. All of America could perhaps be in danger.

Mr. Right knew that he had to do something. And do something he did.

With no concern for his own safety, Mr. Right reached into the coffin and caught hold of Jefferson's spinning corpse, yanking him from the ground and tossing him high into the air. The body cartwheeled higher and higher, some of the centrifugal motion slowing as it gained altitude. By the time it reached it's maximum altitude the body had stopped spinning entirely. That's when Mr. Right launched himself from the grave. In a streak of red, white, and blue, and a geyser of grave dirt, Mr. Right directed himself like a guided missile at the falling remains of our third President.

"Father of democracy, my ass!" Mr. Right snarled through gritted teeth just seconds before he pounded into the falling corpse. Jefferson exploded in a shower of dust and bones, clattering harmlessly back to earth.

Mr. Right then landed and found Jefferson's skull. Picking it up and looking into the empty sockets, he spit in the skull's face, launching a glob of stringy saliva into the nasal cavity. "Damn you, Thomas Jefferson! I will not allow you to destroy the America I have created!"

With one massive squeeze Jefferson's skull crumbled to dust and fell from Mr. Right's gloved hand.

That day Mr. Right had, perhaps, risked his life to save American lives, and this is how they repay him? Protests? Burning him in effigy? Questioning his right to dominance? It just wasn't right.

There was only one thing to do.

Time for a new PR campaign.

Not for the Good American Act, but one just for him.

After all, Mr. Right had to be able to sell himself before he could sell dangerous legislation.

Chapter Six

Rush Manor

Three days later

Bill Rush was in a very good place. The OxyContin was kicking in and the whole world felt warm and fuzzy. He felt almost good enough to hug a liberal.

Almost.

Filming the new spot had gone very quickly, and that was good, because Mr. Right was seriously jonesing for his pills by the time the shoot was over. Bill had said his lines a couple of times in the mirror, stood in front of the camera and said them again, and then he was out the door, on his way home to get his fix.

Things were a little rough for the last couple of days, having had to eliminate Louisa to make sure that she couldn't rat him out. As long as the body was kept on ice no one would ever have reason to miss her. She wasn't even supposed to be in this country anyway. Unfortunately, killing Louisa meant that he had to find another means of getting his pills and that required another person knowing his secret. To avoid that, Bill had tried to kick his habit. It didn't work. It was like a starving man trying to kick hunger by fasting. Rush would never admit it, even to himself, but it was more a lack of willpower than a physical addiction.

Finally, Mr. Right broke down and called the President, telling him what he needed. Instead of the scolding lecture that he expected, considering the President's public stance on illicit drugs, the only thing the President said was, "I have just the man for you. He used to get my cocaine for me back in the day and he is very discreet."

The pills were to be delivered to the manor and would be waiting for him when he got back from the shoot. Mr. Right flew home as fast as he could the very second the director said, "Cut!" He had to get his mind right again.

Now, Bill Rush lounged on the sofa in pajamas and a robe, looking through the large screen television before him and enjoying his buzz while he waited for the new spot to debut in prime time. Hopefully this would do the trick and bring the masses back to his side. The protests and the riots hadn't calmed down at all in the intervening days. In fact, it seemed to be spreading. The people seemed to be on the verge of a full-scale revolution. Something had to be done, and quickly. He and the President were losing control and that just could not be allowed to happen. The only way that Mr. Right's and the President's actions were prosecutable was if they were out of power. The whole system, everything they had worked for, everything he had personally suffered for in the lab, was out the window if the people didn't go back to sleep.

At a little after eight o'clock the spot began, running on all networks simultaneously. A nice benefit of being the President's friend. Bill fumbled for the remote control to turn the volume up. It had to come up quite a bit to get over Laura's insipid whimpering. After all the ass kicking's she had gotten over the years, you would think she would have learned to handle pain better.

"Bitch, you shut your whine hole before I give you something to cry about!" Bill yelled out and the whimpering ceased immediately. He watched the spot in silence.

When the commercial was over, he sat bolt upright on the sofa, his warm and fuzzy world disappearing behind his anger. Some heads were going to roll! Literally. Bill Rush could not believe that his people would release something so damning. Someone should have put a stop to it.

In the spot, Mr. Right shook uncontrollably as he hastily spat out his lines. He had intended to address the nation as it's one true savior and ended up coming off as the world's scariest junkie. The quaking in his body was never more prominent than at the end of the spot, the part where he always delivered one of his famous tag lines. Mr. Right flexed his jittery muscles and then pointed one horribly shaky finger at the camera. "Remember kids. Might makes right."