Martin of Dunkirk

Martin, clad in black hat and trenchcoat, whirled. He'd sure he'd seen someone in the dark alley behind him - and he was right. Five people wearing white laboratory-coats and protective gloves emerged from the alley, fanning out in front of Martin. Their leader stepped forward and, reading from a paper, loudly announced: "By the authority of the International Council of Chemical Associations, I hereby pronounce you, Martin of Dunkirk, formerly known as Martin of Glouchester, Martin of Dublin, Martin of Saint Edward's, and Martin Chuang, PhD, condemned to death, and hereby resolve to carry out the sentence!"

Martin inquired somewhat plaintively, "I don't suppose I can appeal?"

The leader snapped out, "There is no appeal to the edicts of the ICCA and its duly appointed representatives!" She snapped goggles onto her face and pulled a flask filled with an unknown solution from her coat. Behind her, the other four scientists followed suit.


"This hardly seems fair," Martin complained. "Perhaps I can help even things out?" He snapped his fingers. Instantly, a half-dozen men faded in from the shadows all around the scientists, wearing only black. Martin reached under his hat and pulled out a flask of his own. His minions did the same.

Looking about her, the ICCA representative proclaimed with a great deal of bravado, "This changes nothing!" Pointing to one of Martin's minions, she asked, "What is your profession?"

The minion looked rather confused. "Hired killer, ma'am..." he said somewhat nervously.

The representative was already whirling. "And you! What is your profession?" She asked of another minion.

"Er, I'm a bouncer, ma'am..." he admitted.

"You! What is your profession?"

The third minion, somewhat taller and leaner than the others, said simply "Thief."

The representative returned to the center of the scientists' line. Looking at her group, she asked, "ICCA DELEGATES! WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION?"

Brandishing their flasks and clipboards, they shouted together, "WE! ARE! CHEMISTS!" The chemist leader turned towards Martin and shouted, "Attack!"

The leader poured liquid from her flask into a graduated cylinder, carefully examined it at eye level to determine the quantity of solution poured, added a little more, eyed it again, took out a buret, siphoned out the liquid, walked over and sprayed it at Martin as he rolled away in an attempt to dodge. Martin of Dunkirk almost felt silly for dodging such a slow and weak attack.

Then the ground where the liquid had landed began to frothe and melt away, leaving a six-foot crater where about a hundredth of a liter of the solution had fallen.

Martin felt less foolish.

Now the combat began in earnest. All around him, Martin's minions were being vanquished by the hardened chemists. One of them appeared to be evaporating. Two more were melted together. Martin himself was fighting for his life against the chemist leader, trying desperately to counter her attacks. She tossed hydrochloric acid at him; he neutralized it with sodium hydroxide. Even as he felt the spray of neutralized salt-water on his face, the chemists' leader was already preparing an attack with fluoroantimonic acid, capable of dissolving nearly anything. Martin scrambled to search through his pockets - potassium hydroxide, sulfiric acid, more sulfiric acid - just barely managing to toss up a cloud of lithium nitride in time to block the spray of acid. They fizzed and popped in-midair, and Martin collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

The chemists surrounded him. Their leader kneeled, took off her goggles, and pulled a very small box from her pocket. "Martin of Dunkirk, formerly known as Martin of Glouchester, Martin of Dublin, Martin of Saint Edward's, and Martin Chuang, PhD... will you marry me?" she asked.

Martin looked up in surprise. It was his long-time friend, [redacted]! The entire battle had been staged as a venue for the proposal! Happy ending!

Post-script: He said yes!