Nothing will stop your love.

Takeoff procedures take forever. It would help if your minions hadn’t gone on strike and **** you to freeze them. It was hard to find good help these days, minions demanding health care, a 401k, the right to opt out of missions they classified as “certain ****”.

“The whole world is going straight to hell.” You say out loud as you attach your Sub-zero imobilizing freeze ray to the auxiliary weapon arm of your jetpack. You touch the weapon softly. “Sorry old girl,” you say. Normally it would be your main weapon, but the police with their frost-proof shields ruined your fun last time. This time though. . .

Your shoulders hunch and your teeth clench as you let loose another fit of laughter. “This time,” you shout, your voice echoing through the cavernous hanger, “my brilliance will be known the world around!”

“Excellent, sir.” Your robot butler says dryly. “But please hold still.”

“Yes, of course James.” You reply. You straighten your posture, hold still as James adjusts your bowtie. You had little patience for such things, but the forum you joined online said appearance was very important to females, and you wanted to look your best.

Lastly, James attached your modified flight helmet. Normally you didn’t worry about the attractiveness of your safety gear. To be honest, you usually went for intimidating. But you had spent 6 months inventing a half-inch helmet that was bulletproof and would protect your precious brain from any unforeseen threats that might cause your jetpack engine to suddenly explode mid-flight.

James dutifully finishes attaching your helmet/fedora and steps back.

“I’m off, James, prepare the honeymoon suite. Tonight I’m going to have sex with my wife!”

“Of course you are sir.” James responds as you hit the ignition and fly through the launch tunnel into the warm spring sunshine.

The trip to the town square is quick. You see the helicopters circling, but they are far too slow to be a threat. The fair itself is well-attended; you imagine that means good things for your prospects. As you get close you launch the counter-sniper bots. You see a few bright flashes as they detect and neutralize the vision of several would-be shooters. You circle one time to judge the ground-level security and then land. The SWAT teams move to the front of the crowd as you land.

You smile at the quick look you get at the young woman being crowned. Long blonde hair, nice legs, pink dress, big blue eyes that light up as you land. The runner-up that was crowning her isn’t bad either, a shorter and curvier brunette. She immediately starts screaming. You like both of them. You sigh, you really should have built a jetpack that could carry all three of you, but you push that out of your head, you need to stick to the plan.

“Good people of Springdale, thank you for attending my wedding today.” Your voice echoes through the streets from the hyper-speakers embedded in your suit. “The SPD is signaling me to keep it short so I’ll just thank you for attending and wish you luck with the orgy!” You yell then laugh as you trigger your newest secret weapon, lust gas.

People scream and run, then stop running and start pulling off their clothes as the gas overtakes them. Several police officers get mobbed by civilians, others are busy pulling off their own clothes. You laugh a good, hearty laugh at the scene, but you see the gas starting to spread back toward the stage so you affix your gas mask, prepare the second mask and turn to greet your bride.

“My lady,” You say, bowing slightly and tipping your over-sized fedora to the love of your life, “if you will do me the honor of escorting you to our honeymoon hideaway.” You don’t have much time, but the importance of romance for the females makes it time well spent if you plan to get lucky tonight.

You look up to see the blonde, the winner, your wife-to-be. She looked. . . excited? Smiling and waving to you. You weren’t expecting that. The brunette is screaming, a good, ear-piercing scream with fantastic projection. You’ve always loved a good scream. You find yourself pausing, a debate suddenly entering your mind. . .