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This message Lair Legion: The New Underground #2: The Truth Is An Escape Artist was posted by Fin Fang Foom on Friday, December 20, 2002 at 17:45.
Seasons don’t fear the Reaper
Nor do the wind or the sun or the rain
We can be like they are
(come on baby)
Don’t fear the Reaper
(baby take my hand)
Don’t fear the Reaper
(we’ll be able to fly)
Don’t fear the Reaper
(baby I’m your man)
Then the door was open
And the wind appeared
The candles blew, then disappeared
The curtain opened and he appeared
Saying don’t be afraid…
--“Don’t Fear The Reaper”, Blue Oyster Cult
---------------
IX-499 was one of the Ivorean System’s outer moons--a planet so unworthy of notice that it hadn’t even been given a proper name. It was a frigid, ice-mantled world, filled with shallow oceans and slow-motion glacial stampedes. Continent-size drifts groaned and creaked as they scraped along the watery face of the planet. A perpetual wind roamed the planet, rarely finding anything to clash with. In the daylight, the snow’s reflection made it inhumanly bright. And at night, the gathering clouds made it pitch black, blocking out the other moons and stars. Its current population was, exactly, one.
During the Million Year War, both sides had tried to set up bases here--but it just wasn’t worth the effort. Over time, most of them had collapsed under the weight of gathering ice. But one was still there, albeit forgotten…by most.
The room was wide and metal-tiled, coated with a sterile luster. Though the domed ceiling was high, it gave the exact opposite impression: a claustrophobic person would have had an attack, upon seeing how the ceiling was clear, and how it showed hundreds of tons of ice pressing down. The room was below an ocean, which was clogged with an interlocking latticework of ice, and the water existed in cracks shaped like three-dimensional mazes. There was a thick gravity in the room, a sense of things just waiting to fall.
Thanks to the translucent ice, the room didn’t need artificial lighting--at least, in the daylight hours. At night, the slithering arctic eels lit up, casting a bluish-yellow glow on everything. Now, they were wriggling through the glacial cracks, high above the room.
This was Vorrow’s favorite place to relax. Silence was rock-solid, save for water sluicing and ice settling. The artificial savior of the Ivorean people had silver skin, with shimmering golden hair, clothes, and a cloak. He looked freshly-minted and full of energy. His hands were behind his back, holding onto his wrists. The man was a statue waiting to happen; posing photogenically, as if he was about to be recorded for the ages.
In the center row of tiles, which stretched around the room, every other one was a viewscreen. They were all muted, and showing the Ivorean System’s celebration. The war was over, the people were free, a golden age was about to begin…
He’d wasted an infinity on himself. “Vorrow” had gone by another name, then. His every action had been designed to build up his own power, his own happiness...he’d swept across the young universe, conquering all in his path. Over time, his empire had crumbled, as they all did--but he still maintained his wealth. It was enough to provide all the food, toys, and women he desired. He had everything he’d ever need, forever.
But “forever” got boring very, very quickly.
In the time it took for a billion stars to be born and then burn out, he couldn’t help but grow self-awareness. It became clear that he was no better than an animal; a slave to his more primal impulses. Keeping himself satisfied was neither a challenge nor a calling. He fancied himself one of the most important, amazing people who’d ever lived--and all he could do with his life was wallow in comfortable contentment?
He chose one of reality’s supposedly unsolvable problems--the Million Year War--and began to work at ending it. He’d already made a private utopia for himself; why not do it for others? Living for someone other than himself…that was what life was all about.
So, the Ivorean people would have their perfect world--even if he had to destroy the Multiverse in order for them to get it.
“Vorrow” casually wandered underneath the ice, realizing that there were only two more parts to his plan. One involved the Ultimate Nobbler; the most powerful weapon ever invented. And the other involved himself.
Right after he’d decided to become active again, when he’d still been called VH, there had been a curse. Revenge, for one of the many worlds he’d destroyed. It killed his body, and trapped his being in the corners of the mind of a living person. They never knew VH was in them, and he couldn’t get out. Also, he had no idea who he was in, or where they were. They’d die, and he’d be reincarnated in a new prison. But over time, he realized he could project his consciousness into certain other bodies. And so he tricked the Ivoreans into building an unstoppable superhuman, which he could live in…and use to find himself, and carry out his mission. Only once he re-integrates himself will he be truly powerful.
He looked at a pile of papers, stacked high on the floor. The scans said he wasn’t on the world they call “Earth”, but he knows they’re wrong. He can feel it.
With a thought, the viewscreens all switched to showing images of a small, green, slug-like creature. Semi-transparent, and almost glowing. This creature has a rare ability: it can eat away any kind of metal. Including the casing around the Ultimate Nobbler. If the protective seal is broken, and the weapon’s core power source is unleashed…its normal blast pales in comparison.
It’s enough to take out the Parodyverse. And with it gone; without it to contain all the weird, dangerous things for the other universes, the Multiverse will fall in on itself. The energy from that--and from re-uniting with himself--should be more than enough to charge him up, so he can make a new reality for the Ivoreans.
VH smiled as he stretched, his fingers tingling, and reaching towards the glass-encased ice. A perfect life for his new people, and it’d exist within twenty-four hours--by all estimations, that was when he’d find himself.
Lair Legion: The New Underground #2
Harbinge
The night half of the Ivorean System’s throneworld: an expanse of dark cityscape, with deep-set, neon emerald veins of light. An ethereal afterglow smoldered behind the city, evidence of a brighter day. The faint whine of hover-traffic ghosted through mostly-empty streets. Exhausted from the end-of-the-war celebration, the populace had wisely chosen to rest.
But not all of the populace…in some places, the party was just starting to die down. At a square, squatting bar, surrounded by antique urban monstrosities, people were spilling out like the overflowing drinks they’d just consumed. The bar’s paint had worn down to nothing, and its neon sign was sparking like a bugtrap. It was too dark to really see; the best streetlights were higher-up, on the skywalks. Groundlevel is cheap. Ancient asphalt and manual fuel hydrants made up a playground for minor-league politicians and blue-collar businesses.
Kerson Umver coasted unevenly from the bar’s entrance. His dingy blue uniform hung off him painfully, and his bald head and face were tight and gaunt, like he’d been through a nuclear winter. The pavement was bouncing up at him, trying its best to strike his forehead. But he kept one hand on a row of barely-separated permabrick buildings, and made his way back to his apartment. Where that was, he couldn’t quite remember, but he was sure it’d come to him.
He shouldn’t have stayed that last hour. The only reason he’d been there in the first place was because his friends kept bugging him…and because he’d had a fight with his girlfriend. After his day at the base’s repair shop, he didn’t need that crap. He was starting to think she didn’t appreciate him. And yeah, he’d probably crossed the line at the bar, flirting with other women…but it was her fault. If not for her yelling at him, he’d never have needed some time away from her.
As he shuffled past thick, dense blocks of buildings, Kerson tried to remember that blonde’s name. She actually knew quite a bit about something other than “the neighborhood”, which was a rarity, considering that they were in the neighborhood. Kerson had grown up there, but after getting his engineering degree, he’d gone on to bigger, better things. Still, his friends were here, and it was a nice little confidence-builder…play the big shot, impress the poor girls. And he was kind of a big shot--he did a lot of work for the military. But that blonde, she was so young--she’d really been into him. He still had it.
Kerson arrived at an outdated vidstation, built into a boarded-up bank. The clarity was so bad, you could actually see the pixels. Since she’d gotten him into this situation, the least his girlfriend could do was come pick him up. It was the middle of the night and the middle of nowhere, but what were girlfriends for? After hearing Vorrow’s speech, about how this was the beginning of a new golden age, and how they’d finally be in charge of their own fate…he felt like he had to give her a second chance.
He reached in his pocket to get his wallet. While pulling out his calling card, he never noticed that his military ID was missing…
---------------
Five blocks away, four people stood on the rooftop of an ash-colored building. It was flanked by a windowless, U-shaped storage skyscraper. No light reached it. A muffled voice said, “Did he notice?”
A woman, with a strange accent: “No.”
“Then who’s he calling?”
“His girlfriend. He actually expects her to come all the way out here and give him a ride.” She scoffed. “And I thought Earthlings were bad…”
Metal snapped, and a light, enthusiastic voice informed them that he’d finally gotten the stupid lock off of the stupid door, and they could get somewhere where they wouldn’t have to stand in the dark all the time.
The roof access stairwell had steps made of iron grating, and a halfhearted attempt at a ceiling light. It was a cramped and narrow space, with a firm layer of dust coating everything. CrazySugarFreakBoy! was the first to enter. His chalk-white skin stood out against his vaguely-metallic green body, and his bright orange hair reminded people of those Troll dolls. He pulled a pair of red goggles over his eyes, and examined the military ID. “Yeah, you were right--it’s a keycard thingy.”
Pegasus was the next one in--she had auburn-blonde hair, with a white, toga-like outfit, which consisted of a sleeveless top and pants. Her wings were currently nowhere to be seen, and she had an annoyed look on her face. In a sophisticated, dignified voice, she said, “Remember what I told you about your x-ray goggles?”
CSFB! sighed. “They aren’t just x-ray. But I never use my goggles for evil! It’s just that my definition of ‘evil’ might be a bit looser than--”
Goldeneyed cleared his throat, as he casually flipped down the stairs, landing on his feet. He was covered in all-encompassing black, and his large, glowing yellow eyes shone in the dim light. He turned around. “Close the door behind you, Ziles. And, good job.”
The petite blonde was the last one in--she wore a shimmering silver bodysuit with a zipper up the front, which was zipped just a bit too low. In her hand was a skimpy purple dress, which she’d worn in the bar. She gave an unimpressed-with-herself shrug. “Pretty easy. After all the stuff I’ve stolen, getting some guy drunk and picking his pocket is just kind of pathetic.”
“You can do that to me anytime,” CSFB! helpfully pointed out.
“Um, moving on,” Goldeneyed took the military ID card. “Now that we’ve got this, we can have some recon sneakage. We’re looking for anything about their weapons and vehicles, anything on Vorrow, anything on the Ultimate Nobbler--or the Ultimate Nobbler itself--and anything on their plans. We want to avoid Vorrow, and, um…the magic guy. Occultis.”
CSFB! automatically glanced around the room and rocked on his heels, unable to hold still. “Are we all going in at once or what, boss-man?”
Goldeneyed squirmed underneath his costume…Finny had put him in charge of this little mission, and he was still getting used to it. “Uhh, good point. Okay, no, me and Ziles will go in, and you and Peg can--” G-Eyed saw how she reacted at his impromptu nickname, and continued, “--you and Pegasus can back us up, if we need it.”
“Excuse me.” Pegasus crossed her arms, tilted her head, and glared in a way that made Bry feel about two feet tall. “Just so we’re clear: I’ve been hiding in your little island for the last few months because we don’t want these people to know that Earth has ‘superheroes’, right?”
G-Eyed nodded.
“So we’re going to go break into one of their bases.”
“Yeah…”
“As superheroes who look suspiciously like people from Earth.”
“Uhh, no. We can steal disguises or something.”
CSFB! glanced at the dress that Ziles still held. “Yeah, you’d better put that on…”
She smirked. “I’m an expert at not being noticed--I think invisibility is better.”
Goldeneyed leaned against the wall, resting his chin on his fist, and escaping into thought. “What we really need, is a distraction. I mean, we’re surrounded by a few billion people who’d kill us, if they knew why we were here.”
A beeping noise went off around Ziles’ hip, and she pulled a small, handheld LL computer from a hidden pocket. After glancing at the screen, she said, “I think you’ve got your distraction.”
Then the air raid sirens went off, and they heard loudspeakers telling the city not to panic…
--------------
Space could only be seen through the cracks. All around the edges of the Ivorean System were huge, technological masses; wedges and pitchforks and corridors made for giants. Most had glittering checkerboards of light on their sides, a testament to the fact that the ships were fully crewed. There were so many of them--ten thousand in all--that they were almost having a traffic jam in the opal infinity. They’d arrived minutes earlier, and were seconds away from plunging across the Ivorean space-border.
The swarm hovered just beyond the system’s thirty planets, waiting.
A recorded message was being broadcast over and over again, drowning the comm-waves: Attention, citizens of the Ivorean System: we are representatives of the Intergalactic Council. We are here for peaceful purposes. Please be patient while we speak with your leaders.
This fleet’s flagship was the Nerralocke, an uninspired, industrial-grey craft that was one long rectangle. It was easily the largest ship there. Inside, it was populated with taupe-skinned beings; some in blood-red military uniforms, and some in civilian clothes. They were the Zemar, and their ancestors had sat at the table of the first Intergalactic Council, millennia ago. Originally a race of enlightened warriors, they’d since traded fighting for politics, and had become one of the most powerful empires in the known universe. But they still maintained their legendary armada, just to be safe…
In the forward area of the Nerralocke, the ship’s Commander stood facing a large viewscreen. He had a thin layer of black hair, and a regal crimson cloak hung over his wide shoulders. People were moving and operating equipment all around him, but he barely seemed to notice. Concentration was practically a religion to the Zemar.
The viewscreen blinked to life, and it showed Vorrow’s smiling face. All noise in the forward area flatlined. The Commander groaned quietly, and said, “I want to speak to your ruling council.”
“I am the ruling council, Commander…?”
“Krytek.”
“Commander Krytek. But the ruling council--and the people themselves--wanted me to have all the power. So, there you go. Now what’s this all about?”
The Commander couldn’t believe the man’s casual tone, nor could he believe that the Ivorean government would give up power that easily. In a somewhat indignant voice, he said, “You went on videostream, and told your people that you were going to destroy the universe and build a new one. What do you think it’s about?”
Overacted recognition played across Vorrow’s features, like it was a minor event that he was just now remembering. Shrugging, he calmly explained, “I’m just doing what’s best for my people. So, basically, you want us to stop looking out for ourselves, and to fall in line with the rest of your sycophants.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.” He couldn’t put it like it really was: The Intergalactic Council just wants to know if you’re a con artist, a lunatic, or if you’re actually capable of doing it.
As Vorrow spoke, his tone went from mockingly naïve to openly contemptuous. “I’m sorry--is this the same Intergalactic Council that avoided us for all that time, because they didn’t want to bother breaking up our little Million Year War? I mean, you break up civil wars for everyone else, just not us. But now that we’ve finally got it straightened out, without any help from you, you want us to do what you say?” He sneered.
Agitation creeped into the Commander’s words. “You can’t go around making outrageous--you can’t go around making threats like that! Look, I don’t care who they think you are, and I don’t care if you’re just giving them some plan you’ll never--”
“About my plan--you’d be surprised.” Vorrow held a blaster-sized device in his hand, dangling it in a teasing fashion.
Though many millions of miles separated them--big system--the Commander took a step back, his eyes narrowing. The Ultimate Nobbler.
“You don’t want me to push the button. And I don’t want to, either…not yet, anyway. So back off. This thing could punch a hole in your fleet big enough to fly my war-planet through. And we’ve got a war machine that’s evolved over a million years.”
“That thing’s just making your people a target!”
“Considering that your war-fleet has us surrounded, I’d say we’re already a target. You either ignore us or tell us what to do, right? Sorry, but, that’s over.”
The Commander was strongly tempted to view that as an act of defiance, and to open fire…he would’ve been well within his rights. But the presence of the Nobbler changed everything. And the people of this system hardly deserved to die--they’d just been tricked by this idiot. “Look, we can talk about this some more. We’ll send a team of ambassadors, and you can--”
Vorrow looked genuinely surprised. “Huh. I was hoping you’d do something stupid. No, this won’t work at all.” The background behind Vorrow was now open sky; the ceiling was dividing in two. He glanced to his left, raised his voice, and then proved his horrible acting skills by saying, “No--we don’t want a war! Don’t make me shoot first! I can’t let you attack our throneworld!”
Then a five-hundred-mile-wide beam of blinding white energy tore through the Nerralocke, taking out the few hundred ships that were closely flanking it. Vented atmosphere-bubbles wavered and distorted the blue-and-green explosive plumes.
And the rest of the fleet, having not heard the conversation, saw no reason not to return in kind…
-------------------
Goldeneyed had been all ready to use the classic “knock out a guard and steal his uniform” trick, but he came across the laundry room before he saw any personnel. He now wore tough, dark green pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. His hair was hardly military-length, and it took some time to get it stuffed under a green lieutenant’s cap. A gun had to be part of the façade, and he groaned, sliding it into its holster.
He was in an underground military base…according to Ziles, bases like this stretched out for hundreds and hundreds of miles, beneath the surface. Except for the fact that it was high-tech and alien in design, it didn’t look that different. Lots of metal halls, lots of locked doors. Security cameras were at the hall intersections. He pulled his cap tighter, so it shadowed his eyes.
“You still with me, Ziles?”
“Of course.” She’d gone invisible, and the voice came from right next to him. “We can talk all we want, they don’t have audio pickup. In a lot of these bases, they scan common areas for keywords that have to do with mutiny, breaking in…”
“Um, right. Good.” The base’s comm-system was constantly talking about the “invasion”. Sorceress had given him and Pegasus a universal-translation spell; Ziles didn’t need it, nor did CSFB!. “God, they just got out of a war, why do they want to start another one?”
“I thought he might be using mind-control, so I’ve kept my senses open…but, nothing. Maybe he’s lying, but they’re following him of their own free will.”
“Yeah, but, geez…how could anyone talk people into wanting to destroy the universe?”
With a shrug in her voice: “How could anyone talk people into believing that one group of people are the source of all your problems, and if you exterminate them…”
Goldeneyed shuddered, and walked as casually as he could, hoping he wouldn’t run into anyone. “Okay, we’re looking for a terminal, probably in one of the off-limits areas…”
Ziles was apparently keeping tabs on the battle, as she said, “They’re still fighting in space. Once it reaches their planets, they won’t be able to keep the populace from getting--”
“How long do we have until that happens?”
“A few hours, at the most.”
“Great.” Goldeneyed was now approaching a dead end; an oversized door with a diagonal line dividing it in two. It wasn’t auto-opening, and had a keypad next to it. “Looks like this is it.”
“Don’t ‘port in.” A latch by the door flopped down, revealing circuitry, and electricity sparked. On the keypad’s text screen, the message “Code Accepted” blinked. The door then slid open. “Bio-sensors on the other side. If you don’t open it right, they’ll scan you…”
Through the door was a surprisingly small room, with space for five or six people to work. Computer monitors and interfaces were built into the walls. Goldeneyed took the keycard and, after a few seconds of searching, found the right slot.
The screens came alive with streaming, crystal-blue information. Goldeneyed turned to look at Ziles, which was kind of hard, as she was still invisible. “Do you have the, uh…?”
“Right here.” A suddenly-visible device was thrust into Bry’s hand. It was the size of a computer disk, and about twice as thick, with a strange pattern of circuitry embedded in it. He had no idea where to put it, but that wasn’t a problem.
After pressing an indentation in the device, it flew from his hand, paused to hover, and then charged towards a console. It reconfigured itself so it’d fit in a particular slot. DK and NTU-150 had designed it; its purpose was to search out all the information they needed and download it. The files on Vorrow, on weapons and military strengths and defenses…
“Someone’s coming.” Ziles went visible, and shut her eyes tightly. “It’s Occultis. He has mystic senses, we need to get out of here before--”
“Okay, okay!” It wasn’t a matter of being afraid to fight him…they were still trying to cover up their existence. But they only had to do it until the other field team secured their ace in the hole…
The device beeped, and returned to Goldeneyed. Ziles revealed a small ball of clear powder in her hand--weird, Bry hadn’t even seen her reach for it. “Present from Sorceress. But we won’t have time to watch it work…”
She tossed it in the air. Before it came down, they were gone. The powder puffed out upon hitting the floor, and sprinkled into nothingness.
A young man swept into the room, glancing around expectantly. He had neon-green-streaked black hair, a single-breasted black uniform, and a black cloak with a green interior. His posture was rigid and bracing, as if he was just waiting for yet another bad thing to happen. But the room was empty. And if someone had been here, his senses would have picked them up…
------------------
“Sir--we found him!”
It was a different kind of bunker. Most were designed to withstand massive explosions, and chemical and biological attacks. And while this one could survive those--it was buried underneath Australia, enveloped by many miles of solid rock--it was built with an additional precaution in mind.
Six men and women in black, military-esque clothing were stationed at a metal table, which had computers sitting back-to-back. The small room was pitch black, and there was no glow from the monitors, as the computers had none. Cords were plugged into silver visors, and data flickered across it at a high rate of speed.
The seventh person in the bunker, seated away from the others: “Where is he?”
“South Africa, sir.”
“Bring the child to me.”
Simultaneously, the six people at the table started talking into their barely-there headsets. They were watched by the seventh person’s glowing eyes--all three of them.
Delphian sat in a simplistic folding chair, waiting. He wore a dark grey bodysuit that covered him from head to toe, only revealing his eyes--which were navy. His jacket was the same color, and its collar was rogueishly flipped up. The eye thing freaked people out at first, but he thought it was fitting, given his current employer.
The Order of the Observing Eye didn’t believe in taking chances: that was why they built three bunkers and insulated them against reality-altering phenomenon. For as long as humanity has existed, the Observing Eye has had a plan for the world--and they just wouldn’t stand for someone else changing it.
Delphian tapped his foot on the metal-grille floor. Underneath, thirteen cryogenic tubes were embedded in the walls. Since the base wasn’t vented, icy mist was trapped in it, adding a chill to the air.
It had been just like that Alien movie, where the alarm went off and they all woke up. Reality had been altered, and it was up to them to change it back. It didn’t take long for them to find out what was really going on. Their initial goal was to find VH--probably reincarnated as an infant--and kill him. Except for those in the bunkers, the Observing Eye itself had been erased, so they had no choice...in theory.
This wasn’t the primary bunker, or even the secondary one. The Australia site was the perfect place to get rid of unwanted personnel. Don’t like someone? Put them in cryo-suspension in a third-string facility. They’ll only be woken up if something happens to the other two bunkers--what are the chances?
Delphian smiled under his mask. He still wasn’t happy about his current situation, but irony made life bearable. He’d essentially been sentenced to work in the third bunker, because he’d asked too many questions. Questions about the Observing Eye’s policies. Questions about how they placed more importance on their agenda, rather than on humanity’s well-being. They’d done some horrible things for the sake of the world’s future.
Sabotaging the other two bases, and not being caught, had taken an impossible amount of effort. But it was worth it--Delphian now found himself in control. And if he played his cards right, he could keep the secret society from ever existing again. The world would be much better off…
A voice shook him out of his secret world. “They’re coming, sir.”
He frowned. He didn’t particularly feel like playing King Herod; nor doing anything that would bring the Observing Eye back to power.
A doorway of silver energy opened, illuminating the room. The six-man field team--complete with civilian disguises--stepped through. One of them was holding a small, sleeping baby.
Delphian got up, and walked over to them. “This is him?”
They all nodded.
His eyes widened, and energy flickered out of them. Once the baby was dead, VH would jump to his next body, of which there was no prophecy--he’d probably never be found again. Without the spark from VH getting back together, he wouldn’t have the strength to end the universe. Which was a good thing for Earth, but it’d mean the LL would change things back, and the Observing Eye would exist again…
His third eye picked something up, and he relaxed. Saved by the bell. His eyes began charging up, and he made up some excuse about needing to really get a good blast, just to be safe…
Then, the base started shaking, and alarms were going off. They heard thick earth being pierced. All the electronics in the bunker blew out, showering sparks and smoke. A bubble of clear, red energy surrounded the baby, cutting him off from the man holding him, and causing him to float in mid-air. Everyone else slammed to the floor…
Delphian had to keep from laughing--of course, it was genius. Why do all the hard work of finding the kid, when someone else is doing it anyway, and you can just swoop in and steal him…
The bunker’s armoring was peeling off, metal-shrieking in response. He could see daylight and flying clouds through it--they’d been ripped out of the ground. G-force was pressing them down against the bunker’s grated flooring. He thought he saw a huge, long-haired man in black leather, and a dark cyborg surrounded by crimson energy…
He re-adjusted his plan. The kid would be safe enough with the LL, and there wasn’t any more he could do here. Until things went back to normal, he’d have some fun targeting people who’d normally be in the Observing Eye, but were now helpless citizens, thanks to the reality-altering. It’d be easier to deal with them, that way.
His third eye strobed, and he was gone.
----------------
“Um, can you say that again?”
Fin Fang Foom and Hatman were standing in the LL’s war room, surrounded by viewscreens displaying inner space activity, various types of scans of the war-planet, satellite feeds, hazardous weather conditions across the world, and keyword-searching programs that tapped into media outlets and law enforcement/government databases. It was their own little way of keeping an eye on the world. But for once, it wasn’t Finny’s primary concern.
“Which part?” Hatman liked to wear civilian clothes when planning a mission, and he actually didn’t have a hat on. His dark hair was permanently messy, which wasn’t a surprise. “The part about me, um, leaving, or…”
“No, I mean, I knew you were thinking about stepping down as Deputy. But the bed and breakfast thing…”
Hatman nodded. “Yeah, Whitney’s grandma said we could use her old house as a bed-and-breakfast. We’d talked about moving out of the mansion and getting our own place--and she thought it might be fun if we had something to do, outside of being superheroes. A little small business to give us more of a normal life.”
“But she’ll still be on the team?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. We just need more ‘us’ time. And I’ll still be around to help out, but I can’t be that involved with the day-to-day stuff because, um…well, I’m kind of getting a job.”
“A job?”
“With the police. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do yet, but it feels like the right thing.” He gave a self-aware chuckle. “And I know: it sounds dumb to do that when I’m trying to get more time with Whit. But I feel like I need to, to get out in the world.”
“…congratulations. Yeah, that sounds great.” Finny tried not to think about how that’d affect the legally-questionable LL members and associates.
“But until we get the new line-up nailed down, I’ll stick around.”
“Thanks.” Finny used his tail to scratch his jawline. “Y’know, maybe you could be our liason. I mean, with the police. Wouldn’t have to be official or anything, but…”
“Yeah, we could look into that.” The obligatory awkward pause. With a fair bit of guilt in his voice, Hatman said, “But you’ll have DK around to help, and if the plans with Bry work out…”
Finny winced. “About that--DK is, um, leaving too.” Hatman started to say something, and Finny interrupted, jokingly, “But don’t try to use that as an excuse for staying.”
Hatman’s mouth closed and moved, like he was going to say something--but he didn’t.
“As Senior Advisor, DK’s mainly been giving us logistical help, stuff like that. But he figures he’s more useful to us out in the field. He can spy on people for us, gather information, stuff like that. He does it anyway, he’d just be relaying some of it back to us.”
Pacing around the table, but looking at monitors to make it not seem like pacing, Hatman said, “Actually--tell me if this is a good idea. Maybe I could be Senior Advisor. My new schedule will be like DK’s old one--dropping in every few days, helping out with the major stuff.”
“That could work. Now, if I can just beg Bry into being Deputy…”
“Are Donar and Exile still going?”
“Yeah, Donar’s got personal stuff he has to deal with. And Exile said he wants to look into his background more, and maybe take Valeria with him. But they said they’d help out with this latest thing. And I have no idea where Trickshot is. But Nats and Ziles are still here, and CSFB! is too--he’s just a little busy helping Mr. Book.”
Hatman laughed. “Hey, you’re gonna be the old guy on the team, now.”
Finny blinked. It seemed like everyone else on the team was taking time off to work on relationships, to do new things, and to find out about themselves…and he suddenly felt very, very envious of Hatman. But he choked it down and gave a weak laugh.
One of the monitors started blinking, and Finny walked over to it. They just had audio. After exchanging some hushed words, Finny turned it off, and said, “We’ve got him. Let’s drop the illusion and hope this works…”
------------------
An artificial solar orb hung high in the mansion’s underground biosphere, which was virtually indecipherable from the real thing. It was full of leafy trees, waterfalls, grassy plains, and the occasional alien animal: but only the ones that could play nicely with the others--no carnivores allowed. Most of them were remarkably tame, as they’d gotten used to being around the LL.
They knew not to go near certain areas of the biosphere, such as the crops--the team actually grew quite a bit of their own food, and Flapjack had a little farming experience. Also, the animals had learned that doors were just for people, and that they shouldn’t bother trying to get out (not that most wanted to). But the doors hadn’t always been so secure. Once, a six-legged ocean mammal wanted to go exploring, and it ended up eating everything in Finny’s pants drawer, which has been empty ever since. Likewise, after they programmed the biosphere not to let the animals out, it confused Finny for a pet and kept him locked in there for days.
Nats was currently in it, sitting at a plastic picnic table. It was situated on a miniature cliff, which overlooked a waterfall and its pond. Bright purple and green flowers bloomed on nearby bushes, and otherworldly bird calls echoed through the forest. He wore his usual orange costume, with his black IDT jacket. He wanted to be alone, and given the sheer size of the mansion and its underground facilities, it wasn’t hard to get away from everyone.
“With your costume and your red hair, I thought it’d be easy to find you--but you had to go and hide behind all the neon flowers…”
Nats stood up so quickly that he banged his knees on the lightweight picnic table, which nearly flipped over. As it was, it just tilted, and his legs were horribly tangled up. His flight powers were the only thing that kept him from tipping over. He looked up--Dancer had arrived, and she looked vaguely amused.
“Um, hi.” Though he’d known her for some time, he still got a bit of a rush whenever he saw her--but that was fairly universal among his gender, from what he understood. She had somewhat long brown hair, the cutest face he’d ever seen, a body that ancient civilizations would have started wars over, and a powder blue and navy jumpsuit, complete with headband-disguise. Dancer was easily the friendliest woman he’d ever met, and though he wasn’t in the mood to deal with people, he was always glad to see her.
He remained suave while desperately trying to yank himself free of the picnic table. She put a finger on it, and it suddenly thunked to the ground, leaving him able to move his legs.
Nats hovered out of it. “…thanks. So…what are you doing?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. But, I got tired of sitting around and waiting for the action to start, so I decided to take a walk.”
He nodded. “Well, I’m just…”
“…moping?”
He thought Ziles was the mind-reader. “Something like that, yeah.”
“At breakfast, you put coffee in your cereal. And you didn’t notice. So I figured something was up.”
So that’s what that aftertaste was. “Uh…whoops.”
She sat on the opposite side of the table, folded her hands, and put her chin on them. “Let’s hear it. ‘fess up.”
Unfiltered Dancer eye-contact left Nats largely unable to formulate complete sentences. “Ahb. Uhm. I’m worried that I’ll be the next DarkHwk or Messenger or something, that I’ll be here and then--not that they aren’t--I mean, I’m just afraid that--”
“Slow down,” she laughed good-naturedly. “You’re afraid you’re gonna turn into the broody type? Hey, except for the killing part, some girls like that…”
“I mean, the people that are only in the LL for like one line-up.”
She nodded slowly, picking up on his reasoning. “That’s right, the last line-up was your first time…”
“…and I’m afraid it might be my last.”
She shrugged it off. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. Besides, it could be worse. You could be Space Ghost, and end up selling six mutually exclusive versions of your life story to six different publishers…and Jerry Springer.”
“But I just fly. Yeah, I can do a little more now, but…”
“A ‘little more’? C’mon--since you’ve joined the team, you found out about your TK, and you’ve got the fire-cane…”
“I dunno…I’m just worried that I’ll be one of those guys that sits around all day talking about how he used to be famous, always complaining about how he lost some big opportunity. That this’ll be my fifteen minutes.”
“Wellllll,” Dancer said, biting her upper lip, “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I happen to know that you’re on the new line-up.”
“…really?”
“Really.”
“How’d you find that out?” He laughed. “What, did you hold Finny’s hand and refuse to let go until he told you?”
She blinked. “How’d you know?”
He held back more laughter. “So, uh…hmm. Are you on it too?”
She shook her head--not saying “no”, but saying “that’s all you get”. Then the PA system kicked in, and informed them that everyone was needed in the dining room (the war room was too small to fit everyone). She then patted his hand and stood up. “Let’s go.”
---------------
In an otherwise dark room, word-shaped light showered down the wall across from a massive screen, as well as falling on Jamie Bautista’s face. He was looking at what Goldeneyed’s field team had found. When he noticed something strange, he smiled--the scrolling text was green, which was oddly fitting.
---------------
Nine-month-old Nambai Sonoszon was having a strange day. He’d seen many people he hadn’t seen before, and gone places he’d never been. Currently, he was lying in a crib, in a dark nursery with a strip of aquarium running around it, taking up the top one-third of the wall. He tried to focus on the little fish, which were making laps around the room.
Then, a beautiful, dark-haired woman walked in. She wore navy-and-black robes, and put a hand on his cheek. He squirmed happily. Standing next to her was someone else: without much light to work with, he could just barely make out that it was his mother, who looked a bit shaken up, but relieved. The other woman said words from a long-dead language, and Nambai felt the side of his head become pleasantly warm. The woman extracted a glowing ball of energy from Nambai, which was of a color normally not visible in the human spectrum.
Sorceress deposited the ball in an orb, and the light faded. She tapped something near her neck, and said, “We’ve got him.”
A muted draconic voice replied: “Good--let’s end this.”
------------------
When the Parodiopolis clock towers reached 3:17 in the afternoon, the world woke up.
Kio Asema walked into the R&D building of Shoren Engineering (owned by Shinobi Holdings, which was owned by International Investment Inc., which was owned by AtVenture, whose primary investor is one Akiko Masamune) in Tokyo. It was too early for anyone else to be there, but she had a lot of work to do. Her current project was a traction system for an ATV--which seemed boring, to her. She thought she had more exciting things to do. So she opened the door to her lab and saw a giant mech standing there, with balancing cables and metal framework keeping it up. She screamed and hid behind her desk, and it would be a half-hour before she remembered that her life used to be very different.
Ted Peterson actually worked at Area 51. Every day he got on the private train and rode right in. He was always amused when people would ask him about aliens--there just weren’t any. There was one weird thing, however: until a few months ago, he noticed that the UFO section of his computer files were regularly accessed. Except he had no reason to look in them, and couldn’t remember if he had or not. And today, some visiting politician was looking around--he came into Ted’s office, joked about UFOs…Ted offered to show him the files. Said they were barely classified, because they weren’t important. But when he brought the directory up, the paltry 4000 files (mostly from Blue Book in the 50’s) skyrocketed to a hundred thousand, right before his eyes. And then a million. Two million. Ten million. The subject lines had alien names and races and ships, and Ted was terrified that he was either losing his job or losing his mind.
Jackie (he hated it when they called him that) Loren’s fourth birthday party had been okay, but not that great. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever asked for those bland action figures that his mom had gotten him. Jack flopped down on his bed, and dumped out the contents of his brand-new toy container. As he did, the toys shifted and rippled into humanoid dragons and thunder gods and alien thieves, and he laughed, suddenly remembering why he’d asked for them in the first place…
Cody Williamson was about five seconds away from closing the proverbial deal with Amanda, who’d never said more than five words to him before this morning. Maybe she was trying to make some other guy jealous, maybe she was lonely and wanted attention--he didn’t particularly care. Going up to his apartment had actually been her idea. They were having a little wine and laughing and she was finally starting to loosen up. Then she looked right at him--no, behind him--called him a pig, and splashed the wine in his lap. Thirty seconds of confused pleading later, he was alone, and he looked behind him--it was a centerfold of someone he’d never seen before, hanging on the wall. He blinked: before, it had just been some art deco piece. The centerfold was of the superheroine Lisa, and his mind stuck on that word “superheroine”--no, they were just in stories, weren’t they?
All over the world, people wandered through the streets like they’d just gotten out of bed and thought they had to go to work, though it was still night in some places. For no logical reason, people felt the sudden urge to eat breakfast. Every TV channel showed the President and several UN people, who were explaining that there had been an emergency, they had to enact a last-ditch contingency to save both the people of Earth and the universe itself…
Some people felt relieved, some were frightened by the fact that reality could be changed so easily, a few felt angry…but most had been feeling abandoned for the last few months, and they now understood why.
And people laughed and yelped when superheroes flew over streets and swung between buildings. Things were back to normal; such as it was. At least, they were until the populace found out about the tenth planet…
---------------------
The war, needless to say, was getting worse. The Intergalactic Council’s ships were taking on the Ivorean’s first-wave, which mostly consisted of AI-piloted craft. Loss of life was at a relative minimum--the fighting had only been going on for a few hours--but the battle was edging closer to populated space.
A single fact was relayed to Goldeneyed, who was hiding out with the others in a Lairjet, on the throneworld. If he didn’t come up with a way to stop the war, based on that fact, a lot of innocent people would die. Through the sheer dynamic tension of the situation, he realized what he had to do. And he realized the great side-effects it could have. He looked up at the sky and said, “This is gonna hurt.”
---------------------
Cari was a slave and no-one knew it. Though she wore the dark blue uniform of an Advisor, and her white-blonde hair was in the style of an upper-class student, Vorrow owned her life. On the surface, she was a young engineering prodigy; part of the thinktank that ran the war-planet. And while she had power over many tech-workers, she didn’t have it over her own existence. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the war, but Vorrow had demonstrated how he could help her life--or destroy it. He’d taken other liberties, as well, and she quietly prayed (but not to him) that she wasn’t pregnant…
Five thousand people fell silent, as Vorrow descended his personal ship’s ramp. The greyish-white primary deck was devoid of its normal craft, which had been cleared out to make room for the obligatory mass-welcome. Cari stood up in front of the crowd, along with the other major players in the engineering division. She was trying to keep it together, and refusing to let him get to her again.
As he walked by, he casually brushed his cape back, revealing the Ultimate Nobbler, which was in a holster on his belt. He winked. Still in front of the crowd, he stopped.
Then, to everyone, he said, “Sorry I’m late--as you know, the Council isn’t willing to let us have peace. Or a better life. But we won’t have to worry about them for much longer.” His grin was the grin of a man who could promise the future, and deliver.
A man in grey civilian clothes rushed over to Vorrow, whispering.
When he left, Vorrow’s smile got even wider. “I’ve just been informed that we found the planet I’ve been looking for. I’m sorry for all the secrecy, but they’re the main threat to our goals…it’s Sol-4, which is just a few minutes from here…”
He glanced at the head military guy, nodding curtly. The military guy nodded at an underling, who nodded at an underling…Cari recognized the man who then stepped forward--black hair, a black uniform. Lieutenant Kron. He’d actually been nice to her, and not because he wanted a promotion or a little “fun”.
Vorrow sighed impatiently. “The creature, please.”
Kron presented a small, green slug, which was tiny enough for Kron to hold in the palm of his hand. It was encased in a clear organic container, which it couldn’t eat through.
Vorrow’s eyes widened ravenously, a look that made Cari’s stomach turn--the last time she saw it…she tried not to think about it.
Then, Kron’s dark eyes flashed at her. The gaze raced down her eyes to her heart, causing her to almost jump. It had been meaningful and intense, but she didn’ t understand--
Vorrow saw her cheeks flush, and he was momentarily distracted. There was a blur of motion, and when Vorrow stopped staring at her, he noticed that his holster was melting, and the Nobbler was smoldering…
The slug was making a truly sickening noise, squelching and squealing in a giddy fashion. It had never been in a container. It had metal flakes around what must have been its mouth. And Kron was grinning.
Dark-green-uniformed security guards were pulling out their blasters. Kron didn’t seem to care--with his eyes, he motioned to the Nobbler.
And with perfect timing, the somewhat-exposed wiring flickered.
Everyone literally hit the deck; not that it would’ve done any good. Vorrow tore it off his waist, carefully set it on the ground, and then flew like mad. With a thought from Vorrow, a wavering egg-shaped energy field surrounded the Nobbler. That’d hopefully contain the blast (for about one picosecond), and keep anyone else from picking it up. It couldn’t go off yet, not until he’d reunited with himself…he flew through an atmosphere-sealed runway and vanished into space.
Kron was now the only person still standing. He casually--but quickly--dropped the slug on the floor, stepped on it, and grabbed Cari.
They ran off. The others in the room slowly started to poke their heads up and look around. Some looked at their hands and chests, checking for injuries.
Vorrow suddenly returned, hesitantly sticking his head in the flight deck from outside. He touched down near the Nobbler, giving it a closer look. The casing was intact, but the barrel had melted in on itself, somewhat. He doubted he could fire it safely. Everyone started talking about how Vorrow had saved them with whatever that energy-field was, and kept it from going off…they hadn’t seen him leave.
He then saw a neon green smear on the floor, cursed, and spun on his heels. “Get--that one guy! That guy that had the slug!”
Vorrow was about to go after him himself, when the flight deck’s viewscreens all started showing the same image. It was a dragon, which was holding a glowing orb of some kind. Vorrow recognized it immediately, but tried to stay calm.
The dragon said, “I think you know what this is…VH.”
---------------
Cari was supposed to be dead by now. She’d fallen on the floor like all the others, waiting for the blast…but it hadn’t come. At least, she hadn’t felt it. But things like that were sometimes too quick to feel. She hadn’t even noticed when someone grabbed her wrist and started dragging her along--she just kept closing her eyes and wincing.
She opened her eyes, and saw Lieutenant Kron. He had a finger to her lips; his way of telling her to be quiet. They were in a tight, dark place.
“You want to get away from Vorrow?”
She nodded.
“Stick with me. I’m a friend.”
He opened a door, revealing a spacious secondary flight-deck, which was full of shuttlecraft. They’d been hiding in a maintenance closet. She heard the echoing cadence of military footsteps. They were being hunted…
“I have a way out of here. Keep going straight ahead and don’t look back. At the end of the flight deck, there’s another closet--the entry code is 4961. I’ll catch up with you.”
She did as he said.
-------------
“Someone’s read too many Authority issues,” CSFB! sighed.
Goldeneyed shook it off. “Shut up. I can do this.”
“Can I have your room at the mansion? I mean, if this doesn’t work out,” Pegasus clarified.
Ziles frowned. “You just need a hovercam dispatched to the war-planet? And nothing else?”
“Just make sure the eyes of the universe are on Vorrow. I can do the rest…I hope.”
-------------
The dark-green-uniformed elite guard were very, very embarrassed. They’d acted like everyone else and assumed fetal positions when they thought the Nobbler was going to go off…and now, a traitor and one of Vorrow’s favorite women had escaped. And despite the fact that they’d run right through a crowd of five thousand people, no-one had seen them.
Twenty of them arrived in the secondary flight deck, slowly creeping between the proverbial legs of the massive spaceships. They split off in pairs and began to sweep the room.
On some of the ships, electronics hummed to life--massive communication arrays had been activated. The headsets the guards wore were now useless, thanks to the interference.
The lead guard, Pregsor, laughed. This was a canny one. He’d known Kron--or so he thought. He was just now remembering that Sol-4 was full of superheroes…he wondered if Kron was one of them.
Two of the guards cautiously walked near the belly of an oversized, jet-like craft. When they paused to turn around, two hands came out of the shadows. Each of them were pinched by two fingers and a thumb, right between their shoulder and neck. They spasmed noiselessly and went down.
Two more walked by a far wall, making sure that the electronic doors hadn’t been opened in the last few minutes. One got a kick to the side of the head, being knocked out instantly, and the other was blindsided with something metal. Their noise didn’t travel more than a few feet.
One of the ships was held in the air by suspension cables, and ladders were situated underneath it, so technicians could work on the ship’s underside. Four guards walked underneath it…and then they heard a springy snapping sound. By the time they got out of the way, the ship fell, and cut them off from the others--they were sandwiched between it and a ship on the floor, unable to get free.
“Regroup! Regroup!” Pregsor wasn’t used to having to yell. When they were together, he did a quick headcount--only ten were left.
They formed a circle, with their backs to each other. Each held his weapon in a firing stance. They waited.
Something dropped from directly above them, but they didn’t notice…not until it had knocked two of them out and broken the arm of a third.
Kron backflipped out of the circle, landing on his feet. He held some kind of nightstick. With it, he made a slicing motion, and liquid metal was left in its wake--it hardened into a single-bladed sword. He held his standard-issue blaster in his other hand.
Pregsor chuckled. “A sword? So you’re that one. The Dark Knight. Put the gun away, we both know you won’t use it.”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone else.” He casually shot Pregsor in the head.
The gun was set on a non-lethal level, but it still gave Pregsor something to think about in the hospital for the next few weeks. The others rushed Kron.
He dove into the thick of them. The sword sliced guns in half, and bit into arms and stomachs. He wasn’t willing to kill them, but he was more than willing to make them bleed. Thrusted palms to the throat, throws, knees to the ribs. Kron spun, ducked, shattered knees with carefully-controlled jabs and lifted people off the floor with roundhouse kicks. He only had to use the gun occasionally, and that was just to save time--he didn’t really need it. The gun smashed into wrists and added some extra force to his blows. He pistolwhipped at random.
And, thirty seconds later, he was the only one left standing.
---------------------
Vorrow was only in a mildly bad situation. The slug was squished--but he’d cloned a backup, and it might be ready by now. The superidiots on Sol-4 knew the truth--but the Ivoreans wouldn’t believe them. The Ultimate Nobbler couldn’t be used in its normal way--but he just needed to have the other slug eat through the casing and blow up the universe. And if he could just get to his soul-in-a-bottle, all would be well.
“Here’s the deal,” Fin Fang Foom said. “You back off, stop the war, step down as the ruler of the Ivorean System, hand over the Nobbler, and we don’t launch the other half of you into another dimension where you’ll never find yourself.”
Though the eyes of many war-planet workers were on him, he momentarily stepped out of character. “Go ahead and try--that thing is stuck in the same dimension as me. We can’t be separated!” He turned to the people. “I need that orb for our plan to work, they’re lying about the rest!” Everything felt rushed and desperate, he had to keep it up for just a little more…
Vorrow then felt sick to his stomach. A sudden dizziness washed over him, but it wasn’t in his head--it was lower, deep inside him…
His skin changed texture, going from metallic silver to a sort of coarse, bumpy crimson, and his mouth opened, but he couldn’t find the words to speak.
------------------
Two simple facts:
First: when VH first started living in the artificial Vorrow’s body, his personality shone through in the form of his physiology. He began to look like VH--and when that happened, the curse kicked in, and his body started to break down into biochemicals. In order to keep himself from turning into VH, he needed a massive power source. He chose the Ivorean System’s green sun. Even trillions of miles away, he’s still hooked up to it, and it’s still keeping him from falling apart.
Second: Goldeneyed often wondered what all he could teleport. He’d practiced on non-solid objects like water and energy blasts, with limited results. When he found out that the green sun’s energy was helping Vorrow’s sham, he decided to try teleporting something new: a small chunk of a black hole.
The surface of the green sun cascaded and shimmered, as it adjusted to the fact that a little bit of black hole was partially teleported into it. Energy was draining out of it. With its core destabilized, it was downshifting in color, slowly trying to become yellow…
The Lairjet orbited the sun, and Bry was curled up on the floor, sweating buckets. His eyes were screwed shut in concentration. He couldn’t turn the sun into another color, or fully teleport the black hole…but then, he didn’t need to. Just so long as they saw.
---------------
On the moon, the Librarian stared up at his own monitor. His finger hovered over a button that would activate the considerable communication gear that he had at his disposal. “Am I on yet? Okay, here goes…”
-------------------
Everyone in the Ivorean System, from those on the planets to those in war-craft, saw what was happening to Vorrow.
They knew the legends. They knew about VH, and what he’d looked like. And when the LL transmitted data on what they had, this thing that Vorrow wanted…they could tell it was VH’s old energy signature, just like it was in the antiquated binary texts.
And, one ship at a time, the war stopped.
------------------
Just as Kron caught up with Cari, someone else arrived--Ziles. She crossed her arms, and Kron thought he momentarily sensed jealously…
“What’d you need me here for?”
He shrugged. “Ever stolen a planet?”
------------------
Vorrow struggled to his feet, nearly tripping over his cape in the process. Whatever had happened to the sun, it must’ve stopped. Vomiting in front of thirty billion viewers hadn’t exactly helped his self-confidence, but he didn’t care. He’d planned for this.
He removed a small pager-like device from his belt, and hit the lone button on it. Smiling, he said, “It isn’t over yet.”
And the fleet of AI-piloted warcraft was taken over by a contingency program, which told them to target Sol-4. His plan could still work. Invade, get himself back, use the back-up slug, end the old universe. Except the new one would just be for himself.
To be concluded…
Fin Fang Foom
*flies away*
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