Chapter Text
For a certain kind of person with a certain kind of mindset, it’s difficult to watch any of the incarnations of Gatchaman without wondering why the team mentor isn’t flipping through the real estate pages looking for a bargain on a crumbling castle with a nearby village populated with superstitious peasants and a conveniently-located highly-flammable windmill within lurching distance.
Because the team mentors are all clearly as mad as a box of frogs.
And they’re allowed to do something that they call science.
It’s fairly obvious to anyone who has struggled to stay awake while trying to memorise bits of the periodic table or fought off the inevitable headaches that come with trying to understand why, if we’ve managed to build a spacecraft that travels at close to the speed of light, an astronaut should need to use a torch rather than just turn on the bloody cabin lighting, that whatever it is the mentors are doing, it isn’t science.
It would appear that what they’re doing is Mad Science. You know, the stuff with the shiny fizzy Tesla coils, Jacob’s ladders, lightning rods, the obligatory hunchbacked assistant and the odd shambling abomination.
So, what happens when the team realises that their mentor is, as mentioned, as mad as the proverbial carton of amphibians?
How about an intervention? And possibly a support group, where you can go along to discuss your issues with raising the dead, have a nice cup of tea, a biscuit* and a bit of a sing?
To find out, dear reader, please read on.
*Or a cookie, if you must.