Return to the Parodyverse

Posted by spiffy presents a long-lost classic: on July 03, 2001 at 20:32:41:

Return to the Parodyverse

Chapter One- HV

Rain.

Dreary, cloud filled skies. Layers of suffocating blackness encircling and suffocating its prey which walk the streets of United North America. It is 2014. The country lays in shambles, its people caught in the grip of hysteria. The lightning dances across the sky, but in anguish, as if it flees a most sinister foe.

And all about, it rains. What a pleasant setting for our story...

Hal Vanderbilt shifted uneasily in his leather bound chair. The rain assaulted Vanderbilt Towers with a renewed ferocity, as if it replenished itself with fear and despair, leeching this energy from the people below. It has been raining for 7 years now. The sun has not risen in 4. And yet the streets never flooded, and the plant life never died. Hey, it's the Parodyverse, just trust me on this one.

Hal's youthful face had begun to crease with age. He was without a care in the world. After all, what problems did a multi-billionaire possess? The CEO of the global spanning Parody Comic Emporium, and a retired and respected super-hero as Hollywood V, not to mention the world's most eligible bachelor. He IS scribing this instalment of the story after all...

The Diabolical Dr. Moo rapped on the set of imposing Byzantine stylized cedar doors which ushered one into HV's office. Wonders of the ancient world lined the walls, Phoenician tapestries, and sarcophogi, Greek sculpture sat elevated above the eye on massive and equally impressive pedestals, and masterpieces of the Renaissance hung from the domed ceiling, suspended in the air as if by magic.

HV sat transfixed at his gallery window, and sat back in his chair, "So much hope, so little time." HV spun around to face Moo, "Bad news, I take it..."

Moo nodded, "The...subject outlived his usefulness. I've learned everything I can, but without any appreciable super-powers, it would only waste our resources to continue experimentation." Moo glanced down nervously at her coat pocket, retrieved a newspaper and threw it on HV's desk. "I think you better look at this, though, HV.” HV leaned forward to read the headline. "Oh-

-Shit!" Jarvis cursed, hurling himself from the path of a red toqued driver of a snowmobile. "Damn Canadians! Where'd you learn how to drive?!"

Lisa grabbed Jarvis by the collar and hefted him into the air. "Canada, apparently."

Jarvis grimaced as he stared at his rain soaked slicker. He instinctively brushed the dirt from his jacket before realizing that it was still raining and he looked like a moron. Not to insult him, but the world had not been kind to him ever since "the election".

Jarvis had sought political office waaaay back in 2002, and had won! Hulk Hogan sat in the White House as President, and Jarvis his VP. The country had entered a Renaissance, Jarvis had been praised as a genius (though it had been rumoured that Lisa was pulling his strings). But then..."it" happened.

Jarvis was never the same afterwards.

"Hardy-har-har-har! The woman is given Super-strength by a blood transfusion with her cousin and thinks she's the She-Hulk of comedy for gawd's sake!"

Lisa frowned and shook her head, "Well ever since spiffy's disappearance, we've had less and less to laugh about, Jarvykins. Why, I can't even afford a bottle of Cool Whip anymore!"

Jarvis and Lisa had been on the run every since "it" had happened (is it bothering you yet that I only say "it"?). Jarvis could never show his face in public again, and Lisa chose to flee with him. They lived off what they could find and what work they could get. Jarvis was too proud (or insane possibly) to ask for charity from their former Lair Legionnaire friends. If only "it" could have been avoided.

Something caught the corner of Jarvis' eye. He grabbed a crumpled newspaper from a waste basket and perused an article. "Hm, that's strange. Seems spiffy's plant pot was found in Vanderbilt Towers.
'When questioned about the pot, the Diabolical Dr. Moo cryptically stated that, 'We at the evil laboratories of PCE have nothing to do with the mysterious capture and subsequent experimentation and death of spiffy.'" Jarvis let out a sigh of relief. "That's a relief!"

Jarvis tossed the paper behind himself, and continued to walk on, humming joyfully. Lisa paused for a moment and stared intently at the soggy paper. She couldn't put her finger on it, but SOMETHING was out of sorts (yes, I do realize that it is painfully obvious, but that would ruin the run of twisting the story on its ear later).

Hal Vanderbilt watched the monitor as Lisa disappeared from view. This was a problem he had not accounted for. Nonetheless, he was ALWAYS up for a challenge...

Something WAS out of sorts. Fin Fang Foom had already asked this question of Banjooooo, but he suspected treachery of his companion. He would find out once and for all. FFF peered intensely at the cards in his hand. "Alright Banjooooo, do you have...any...4s?"

Banjooooo snarled in anger, "Dammit! I lose again!"

FFF released a hearty laugh, his voice rumbling through his chest cavity, "Serves you right. I asked you if you had any 4s last turn you filthy liar!"

Banjooooo ignored FFF. "Damn limbo! I was perfectly happy in seclusion, so just how did I did end up here with you?!"

FFF frowned. "I don't know, Hollywood V is writing the damn story. He's thinking of linking us to the controlling and subsequent corruption of the Shaper of Worlds by Those Who Sit Above in Shadow.
Apparently he placed us here for some unknown reason." FFF grinned viciously, "Personally, I think he felt threatened by my devilishly good looks."

"Since this is limbo," Banjooooo started, "I'll just chock that up to self induced delusion."

"What was that?"

"Never mind."

"Oh yeah," FFF began to mutter under his breath, "I've been driven mad by your persistent babbling about how much you miss spiffy."

"I HEARD that!"

As Banjooooo raised his fist in anger, a rift opened up between the two comrades, a slice in the fabric of limbo, ripping open to permit them passage.

"But passage to where?"

"Dammit Finny, he's the narrator of the story! You're not supposed to respond!"

"Oops." FFF peered through the opening. It was the Parodyverse alright, he could see the strip mall which had been built over the razed Scourge of Motels.

Banjooooo peered curiously into the gaping chasm whiched had formed in front of his very eyes. "So...just how did this happen, and who did it?"

FFF sighed, "I think this is another dangling plot thread that HV is letting someone else tie up. Seems king of lazy to m..."

Suddenly, FFF was struck by a bolt of lightning.

Sparks poured out of Moo's laboratory as she flooded the body on the table with electricity. A finger moved, then a leg, and suddenly the entire body jolted and convulsed, ripping it's shackles from their hinges. The android which had just been reborn looked warily at his surroundings. This was not the world he remembered.

Moo stepped anxiously toward the mechanical man, a clipboard reading 'Jarvis Protocol' clutched in her hand. "Hello, Visionary. On behalf of the Lair Legion, welcome back." Moo smirked, a hidden malevolence lying within her grin. "You probably have a lot of questions. I'm not surprised, you were badly damaged by Lisa and Jarvis' attack. But where is my head? Your memory was damaged, so let me fill you in on what's happened..."

Evil spiffy paced the streets, his face stricken by madness and the presence of pure EVIL, driven mad by the Jarvis Cosmic, a side effect of the colossal power his visage contained.

Evil spiffy was down on luck though. He could make some money for himself, surely he could. But there was no fun, no adventure, no joy for him in that.

Evil spiffy was bored with life. What was there left to do when you had such power?

Evil spiffy stopped and stared at the poster which was stapled to the wall. It read 'The End is Nigh!' in bold, blood red letters.

Evil spiffy smiled. He had found his adventure.

Zemo was depressed. What had happened to his life of evil? How was it that he was saddled with such an arduous task? Protector of a broken nation? Bah, hardly a mission worthy of the Masked Monarch.

But he had their trust, yes, he had that much. He had the perfect plan. The Canadian revolt would be the perfect ruse. All the while he would consolidate his power and, when the time was right, he would strike. No one could stop him, not even...

Hal Vanderbilt hung his head in, shame was it? Or was he merely tired, exhausted, parched, and hungry? The world around him was falling to pieces. Zemo, Evil spiffy, Lisa, Jarvis, and now his security grid had scanned FFF and Banjoo? Carrington was out there, somewhere. Donar and NTU as well, though he could not say where with any certainty (I'm guessing Enty wants to showcase himself anyway).

He had a plan, of course, he always had a plan, but could he enact it before one of is former comrades did something foolish? What if Zemo attacked before he was ready? Or if Lisa and Jarvis discovered his plan? Evil spiffy was even a more frightening prospect!

HV delved into a file cabinet and produced a weathered copy of his 1980s comic book classic, "The Clockmen."

HV grinned. The solution was simple...

Chapter two- NTU-150

It was raining. It was always raining. It felt as if the sky had been crying for years. And why shouldn't it? The light had gone. Shed no tears? Why not? Why hold back a sea of pain?

NTU-150 looked up at his gigantic hall of armors in his secluded laboratory. No one had seen him for quite some time. Not since "it" happened. He had holed up in Mt. Banahaw over in his old homeland, the Philippines. The old folks said that the mountain was filled with mystical energies that could heal a person.
Half-crazed and half-believing the stories he had heard as a child, he had taken refuge in the giant mountain and built a great armory and laboratory inside a mammoth cave deep within it. After all, if the mountain had energies to heal, he would need every last bit iota of it. The wound inside him was too great for even his vaunted armor to handle.

She was gone. NTU removed his expressionless helmet to reveal his sad and weathered face. He gazed at his reflection on the helmet's shiny faceplate. Back in the old days, his helmet would hide his face from his enemies, so as not to show his fear. But it would also hide it from his friends, and keep them from seeing his smile. He always felt that a man dedicated to science and heroics should always put on a brave, strong face in front of people. Smiles were for mortals. But now, there was no one to hide his face from. And there was no more smile to hide. Not anymore. She was gone.

He stood up and hurled his helmet at the metallic walls of his secret bunker with an anguished cry. As the sound of clanging metal faded away, they were replaced by echoing sobs. NTU leaned against the inactive mainframe in front of him in despair. Then he looked up with a blank stare. And his mind went back...back to when "it" happened.

It was horrible. It seemed like nothing could stop it. The Lair Legion tried their best but one by one the met with defeat. Finally, NTU-150 devised a plan. He knew that only his beloved Tina could possibly pull it off with her mental powers. She was scared, but he told her, "It's all right. You can do it. I believe in you. Everything's going to be all right. Just trust me." And she did.

And she died.

The memory of her death was too much for the mechanical man. NTU's fragile mind quickly flashed to several months after. He had been beyond caring. The Parodyverse was in shambles. In a final, desperate attempt to regain control over everything, he gave Hal Vanderbuilt , several other wealthy tycoons and the heads of government the designs and blueprints of his armors and weaponry. He told Vanderbuilt and the others to outfit all their men with the technology in order to stop "it." In the end, his actions saved the world, and doomed it. For now, all corporations were using his technology to control the world. Governments were waging high-tech war on each other. And Hal Vanderbuilt had become the most respected and powerful man in the Parodyverse. Millions have died.

NTU then let out a piercing scream. "Why did you trust me?!!!" he yelled to no one. "Why?!"

He then bowed his head in sorrow. Suddenly, an idea entered his mind. It penetrated his entire being, caught fire and singed his soul. With sudden vigor, NTU-150 trudged over to a panel beside a giant carbon-steel door. He punched in the numbers 0-6-2-0-9-7. The door slid open, stale air wheezed out of the once enclosed hall. NTU stepped in an gazed at his inventions.

Very few people knew of his extensive battery of armors. They only knew of the suit he regularly wore. But he had indeed been working on several models. But he had never found a reason to use any of them...until now.

On a small keypad near the door, he typed in a single word: mallory. Suddenly, the armors all sprung to life, their eyes glowing an unearthly red. On the screen above the keyboard, a single line was flashed: All armors. Main objective: destroy leaders of the world.

With that, dozens of boot jets burst into flame as numerous armors took off in every direction. The ceiling of the bunker opened wide and many metallic bodies flew out of a giant hole in Mt. Banahaw.

NTU then typed in another code: synergy. Suddenly, another secret door opened revealing a hundred-foot tall technological monstrosity. NTU activated his own boot jets and flew up to the behemoth's chest plate. By pressing a button on his gauntlet, NTU activated the giant's unibeam housing, which allowed him access to the main control unit. There NTU-150 merged his armor with the systems of the giant. Circuitry fused as nanotechnology unified his armor with the on-board systems of his gargantuan creation. The giant armor then stirred as NTU activated it. It was time to take down Vanderbuilt. And after that, it was time to take down the world.

Evil spiffy hovered over the great Mt. Banahaw. He knew that it was time to find allies in this great adventure of his. Using his cosmic powers, he had traced the reclusive NTU-150 to this god-forsaken place. He felt the emptiness in the cyborg. And the seeds of evil were easiest to plant in those who had room for it in their hearts. With a single thought, he disappeared into the mystical mountain. He would have his ally. And the adventure would begin.

Chapter three- spiffy

The alley was empty. A single cardboard box lay on its side, its opening facing the wall. Thoroughly soaked, the soggy box had become flimsy and useless. It would have spent the rest of its days slowly losing its form and eventually disintegrating. It would have, had it not been crushed by a booted foot, belonging to a man running through the alley. This man was not alone. He was followed by a slim woman, her slimness hiding the massive strength within. They ran to the end of the alley, then stopped together at a point just before the wall. A second later, they sank into the ground, disappearing completely as another group, slightly larger, entered the alley. They surveyed the area for an instant before splitting into smaller groups and taking off in different directions. And the remains of the box were alone once more.
The original pair stood silently in the elevator. They were shrouded in darkness, for electricity was too precious to waste on a simple elevator. After several minutes, their descent finally stopped. The door opened to reveal a pair of guards with rifles aimed at the new arrivals. When they stepped out of the dark elevator into the well-lit room, however, the guards relaxed instantly. They resumed their posts as the duo continued walking, down a hallway, and to some well-reinforced doors. They were scanned by countless security devices before the doors swung open, revealing a room whose walls were covered with computers, each post manned by an agent of the Canadian Resistance. They received several nods from the agents, who then resumed their work. Still walking, the pair came to another set of doors. Again, they were scanned and approved. Behind the doors was the current leaders of the Resistance, Zip-150 and the Fleabot. Each was hard at work preparing the day’s activities. Each stopped to greet their guests.
“Jarvis, Lisa,” the Fleabot greeted them, “It is good to finally see you again.” The Fleabot had been a valued ally of the Lair Legion in years past. Since then, it had seen its share of battles, assuming many abilities of its namesake.
“Welcome,” Zip-150 said shortly. His once cheerful visage had long since been replaced with gloom. He was the first and possibly only successful Zip ever created, and had taken his name from his deceased creator, NTU-150.
The two former Legionnaires stood silently in the doorway for a moment, then Jarvis stepped forward. “Fleabot. Zip. It’s been years. Why are you just calling us now?”
They glanced at each other, seeming as uncertain as robots could, before responding. “No disrespect, Jarvis, but we’ve been in contact with you for months,” the Fleabot told him.
“I think we’d have noticed that,” Jarvis sneered.
“Enough, Jarvikins, we’re here for a reason,” Lisa chastised him, then turned to their hosts, “Speaking of which, what is the reason?”
“The plans of the Canadian Resistance are coming to fruition,” Zip-150 told them without hesitation, “We are in need of your aid.”
“The Resistance? What? We’re not getting involved with a bunch of badly-organised separatists!” Jarvis said hotly.
“Someone’s been listening to the rumours,” Zip said dryly.
“Don’t be too hard on them, Zip. Obviously the leader didn’t fill them in on the plans.”
“Rather a large oversight,” Zip began, before being interrupted by Lisa.
“Excuse me, boys? Plans? Leader? If you want our help, we have to know what’s going on.”
The Fleabot turned to face her for the first time. “I apologise, Lisa. Let us explain. Please follow us,” he said, making his way down yet another hallway. The foursome arrived in what seemed to be a conference room, and Lisa and Jarvis allowed themselves to be guided to their seats. They were facing an enormous video screen, with the Fleabot and Zip-150 placed in front of it. “This all began in 2003, with what is commonly known as The Incident. This term describes a series of events, including-”
“I know exactly what The Incident was,” Jarvis cut him off icily, “Begin in 2005.”
This time, the Fleabot seemed downright embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Jarvis, I’d forgotten…”
“Just get on with it.”
The Fleabot gave Lisa an apologetic glance before resuming the story. “All right, 2005, in the aftermath of The Incident. The heroes had won, but at an astounding cost. Fin Fang Foom, Banjooooo, Donar, the Shaper of Worlds, the Chronicler of Stories, Visionary, Cheryl, NTU-150, Roscoe, Markooooo, Elsqueevio, and Yo were all missing, presumed dead. The remaining Legionnaires went their separate ways. Phil returned to Banjooooo’s undersea realm. You two vanished, for obvious reasons. Starseed and Space Ghost were called to South America. And spiffy had returned to his home, Canada, along with Zip and myself. At this point, we lost contact with the others, so we don’t know how they’ve been, or even if they’re still alive.”
“We know all this already!” Jarvis cried, exasperated, “Get to the point!”
Lisa elbowed him. “He gets touchy when… well, always. Keep going.”
“Thank you, Lisa,” the Fleabot continued, “Canada was just as devastated as the rest of the world, but spiffy attempted to make things right. He assembled a new Legion to help the victims, and try to rebuild the society. They became what passed for the Canadian government. They assembled what was left of the population in what was once Ontario, and did an admirable job of reconstruction. By 2007, Canada was back, a shadow of its former self, but back. That same year, it all ended.”
“The Restructuring,” Lisa breathed.
“Yes,” the Fleabot confirmed grimly. The screen which had been displaying pleasant scenes of Ottawa and Toronto changed. It now showed soldiers advancing on the cities, arresting civilians and confiscating property. Another image caused Jarvis’ breath to catch in his throat. It was spiffy’s Legion, chained together and being led to a transport. The text on the side of the transport was obscured, but its significance was clear. They were being taken to the Camps. “The Restructuring,” the Fleabot continued, “The final significant act of President Hogan, and certainly of the United States of America. Hogan had had significantly less success than spiffy in the rebuilding of his country. He was in office less for popular opinion than for the lack of a competitor. The country was in shambles. The population at large was an unorganised rabble, driven mad with fear and taking what they needed to survive. Those who wished to gain an honest living were forced to work for the enormous businesses run by Hal Vanderbilt and Baron Zemo. These two and a handful of other entrepreneurs were the only successes in the remains of the United States. But their success was worthless with a population that could steal rather than earn. Hogan’s power was worthless when his people would not listen. So an alliance was proposed, and the Restructuring began.” The Fleabot paused, leaving room for Jarvis to hurry him along once more. It didn’t happen. Jarvis was watching the screen with a face screwed up in agony. Images of a broken civilisation, poor and hungry people, these were the representations of life after the Incident. Jarvis blamed himself for this.
Zip-150 took over the reins. “In 2006, Hogan realised that without help, he had no chance of restoring the country of old. He had no allies. All countries had been cut off from the others, by need or choice. So he turned to Zemo and Vanderbilt. And they made a plan. They decided that in order to end the violence, they had to eliminate the symbols of power and revolt. They had to eliminate the heroes. So began the Registration. The Camps. The End. All those with powers above those of the normal human were hunted, found, and taken. Soon the Camps were full, and still more came. Their powers were used to fuel the great industries. They were well-taken care of, but their liberty, their spirit, their very individuality was snuffed out. A year later, the project had been a success. Under the guidance of Zemo and Vanderbilt, Hogan had restored the United States of America. However, in doing so, he had lost the essence of his power. The United States were essentially controlled by the rich.
“And it wasn’t enough. They turned to Canada. They had humanitarian reasons, of course. They saw that we were nothing compared to our former glory. They wanted to restore Canada as they had the US. Unfortunately, they did not realise that we had already been restored. The Legion was the first to fall, with the exception of spiffy himself. His powers came not from himself, but from exterior influence. He was the last Canadian hero. And he went quite mad. He took to wearing the hated fern of his arch-nemesis, and fought the American soldiers fiercely. He even organised a small group of revolutionaries. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. By the end of 2007, there was no Canada. There were no United States. In their place was the United North America, under the rule of Vanderbilt.
“Then, after many initial failures, the Canadian Resistance was formed. It rose from the ashes of Canada like a phoenix. Its goal was to separate Canada from the UNA, seen as a corrupted, twisted version of the cherished past. But this was years later. 2012. Vanderbilt and Zemo had already strengthened their hold. The Resistance was in danger of being crushed before it had even begun. And it would have, were it not for the founder. He held the Resistance together, slowly gathering agents and preparing for the final battle.”
“And… spiffy was part of this? That’s why he tracked us down, helped us?” Lisa said, trying to piece together the events of the past two years.
The Fleabot and Zip-150 looked at her strangely and paused a minute before responding. “Yes, he was one of us,” the Fleabot confirmed. “And you were needed for the battle to come. We plan to force Hogan and Vanderbilt to liberate Canada and its citizens. We were happy as it was, not in this hellish place. But then spiffy was captured. That jeopardised our plans. It took us many extra months to find you again, and contact you. But those months gave us more time to prepare. And we’re ready now. Ready to fight for our freedom.”
“spiffy did all that?” Lisa asked incredulously, “But…. No, like Jarvis said, we can’t get involved in any…”
“No, Lisa,” Jarvis stopped her, in a suddenly firm voice, “Don’t you see? This is the way to make things right, after we’ve screwed them up so badly. They need us, and the world needs them.” He stopped to look at the Fleabot once more, “Just one thing… who was the leader?”
Fleabot smiled at this. “Haven’t you guessed yet? Our founder, our leader, the reason for all this, was…”

“spiffy??” Visionary cried, unbelieving. He was standing, stunned, in front of a table. Two people stood behind him, sympathetic. On the table was a prone body covered with a sheet. One corner of the sheet was held in Visionary’s hand. The body’s head was exposed. It was a familiar face to Visionary. The face of a friend. And he was dead. “spiffy,” he said in a whisper. He replaced the sheet, covering the body. He stood with his head hanging for several minutes before turning to his companions. “He… why… who did this? Who did this???”
“Jarvis and Lisa, after they disposed of you,” Moo said sadly, shaking her head. “He didn’t have a chance, without powers.”
“But spiffy does have powers,” Visionary said, confused.
“Jarvis stole them,” Moo continued, receiving an odd look from Hal. “His memory chips were severely damaged,” she explained.
“I see,” he said. “Now, Visionary, we’ve been working for years to bring you back. The world is a very different place now. We’ve managed to get Jarvis and Lisa into hiding, but they’re still a menace. Most of your friends are dead or missing. We need you to help us stop those two from corrupting the rest of the world.”
“They what? Jarvis… Lisa…? Um… okay. Things have changed. So what do I have to do?”
“Protect us, mainly. We have many enemies, and we can’t afford the time necessary to fight them all off. We need to concentrate on our goals. Can you do that for me?” Hal asked.
“I could try… I throw a good punch.”
“We’ve… ah… made some improvements,” Moo told him.
“What? Improv… I’m real, dammit!”
Moo sighed. “All right… concentrate on your left wrist.”
He did so, and several seconds later, a small energy weapon appeared. “What the…”
“Convinced?”
“… shut up. I need to do some adjusting, can I have a room?”
“Certainly,” Hal called for a maid, who came promptly. As Visionary was led out of the room, he thought of something.
“Wait, what happened to Cheryl?”
Hal closed the door. “How exactly are you going to break the news to him?”
“I could always take out a few more memory chips,” Moo pondered.
“Speaking of which, where are the memory chips that were removed?”
“Right here,” she said, handing him several computer chips.
“Ah, poor Visionary… he has no idea… but this is all for the good of the world. Sacrifices must be made.”
“Are we still monitoring everyone?”
“See for youself,” he said, leading her to another room. The walls were covered with television screens. Moo could see Zemo’s lab, the headquarters of the Canadian Resistance, the ruins of an undersea kingdom, and the royal chambers of United South America, Oceania, and Euroasia.
“Enjoy yourself, my dear. I have to get in contact with Herr Zemo,” Hal said, leaving the room. Almost as an afterthought, he crushed the chips in his hand and let their remains fall to the floor.
Moo was concentrating on one screen in particular, that of the Canadian Resistance. Pictured there was her sister, Lisa. “Don’t go far, dear sister,” she muttered, “I have plans for you.” Leaving the room, she failed to notice a dark figure standing near a window. A bolt of lightning shone of off his steel facemask, highlighting the menacing horns that grew out of it. He was not pleased.

Not pleased at all. The Departed had worked hard to gain entrance into the mountain fortress, only to find that his target was not as he remembered. NTU-150 had lost hope in the human race. He had decided that its only chance was complete restructuring. This made him harder to manipulate. Still, the Departed decided, he could easily adapt his plans. It was time to reveal himself.
NTU was hard at work at a computer console when the Departed dropped silently to the floor behind him. There was no noise, no shadow, nothing to give away his presence, yet NTU whirled just the same.
“Evil spiffy?” NTU cried in shock, before he found that he couldn’t speak at all, for a hand was closed around his exposed throat.
“That name is ancient history, as will you be if you continue using it. I am the Departed, understood?”
NTU gave a weak nod, and the Departed dropped him to the ground. “Ack… what… what do you want?” he said weakly.
“Me?” the Departed gave a short laugh, “I want many things. But those things are unimportant. What concerns you is how I can help you.”
“Help… me?” It was NTU’s turn to laugh. “I need no help! As we speak, my robotic armours are preparing my plans, for me to complete them. Ha! Help, indeed.”
“Yes, but your plans are flawed, friend.”
“I am NOT your friend. And how would you know?”
“How I know is not the issue. You plan to destroy each of the world leaders, thinking this will make the world better. This is true. However, you have done this without the proper preparations.”
“Proper preparations… get out of here! You’re babbling!”
“Tell me, who ARE the current world leaders?”
NTU opened his mouth to speak, but realised that he didn’t have an answer. Without speaking, he turned to his computer screen and called up the file concerning global affairs. It had the world leaders, all right. Those of 2003. He turned back to the Departed. “All right, you may have a point. So what do you plan to do about it?”
“Help you in any way I can, of course,” the Departed said simply.
“And the catch is…?”
“Nothing much, really. I just need a few of your inventions, a bit of scientific knowledge for my latest endeavour. And who better to help me than yourself, the real genius of the world?”
“Well, that’s true,” NTU said, immodestly. “All right, if you help me, I’ll help you.”
“Excellent. Let us begin with the major world powers. You have Hogan correct, at least. But you do of course realise that his power is mostly in his own head.”
“Um… yes, of course… and I suppose you think you know who’s in real power…”
“Hal Vanderbilt, of course. His business is a global enterprise, the only one of its kind remaining.”
“Yes, just what I though,” NTU muttered, typing frantically. “Now, let’s say, hypothetically, that I didn’t know the other world leaders…”
“Oceania is led by two women, whose identities are not public knowledge. Their base of operations, however, is. I would suggest attacking it, which should be simple enough, considering you are based here. Euroasia follows a king. His identity, too, is secret. Eastern Russia, Japan and China are little more than wastelands. United South America is led by… well… the beaver hordes. I would suggest an alliance with the rebels, particularly your two former allies. Speaking of alliances, the Canadian Resistance would meet your needs. Is that enough?”
“Plenty,” NTU muttered distractedly. The Departed chuckled and strolled over to NTU’s giant robot. He smiled, seeing the former Giant Robot Arm Zeke attached to one side of the torso. Yes, this creation would serve its purpose.

It would serve its purpose admirably. Zemo gazed with pride at his latest creation, one that would be crucial in his plans. Upon hearing the beep of the communicator, however, he stowed it away under a nearby table before answering. It was Hal Vanderbilt.
“Zemo, have you prepared your speech yet?”
“Eh? What speech?”
Hal sighed. “Your liberty speech on Wednesday. Where you provoke admiration and awe among the masses.”
“Again? Vanderbilt, I may be the peacekeeper in your miserable little nation, but I tire of these little propaganda presentations of yours. I would do my job better without all these public appearances.”
“That may well be true, Zemo, but you must remain a visible hero to the public. After all, you’re the last one. They need someone to look up to, someone to guide them. If they never saw you, there would be rumours that you didn’t exist, and chaos would erupt once more. We don’t want that, do we?”
“… no, we most certainly do not,” Zemo said through clenched teeth, “Is that the only reason you called?”
“You know me better than that, Zemo. There have been rumours that the Canadian Resistance is preparing its first gambit. Look into it. And Zemo? I realise that you keep an eye on things, but just remember: Who watches the watcher? That is all,” he finished, his image blinking out.
“Petty fool,” Zemo muttered, “A Zemo need not concern himself with the sheep that will soon fall under his command.” His manner did not betray the anxiety he felt, knowing that he was in a deadly race with several participants. He turned back to his work, and Hal Vanderbilt laughed.
“Zemo, Zemo… if you realised that I knew your plans… ah, well, there are more pressing matters to attend to,” he decided, standing. Little did he realise that his last words to Zemo applied to him as well. The horned man was watching.

He was watching carefully. High above the ruined streets, two figures hovered. One, a Makulan dragon, the other, a royal sea monkey. It was Banjooooo and Fin Fang Foom, recently released from their imprisonment. Fin Fang Foom was watching the streets below, carefully tracking a single walking figure. Finally, he dived, returning with a shoe sticking out of his mouth.
“I’m sure Jami would approve of that,” the sea monkey said mockingly.
“Oh, shut up. Now that we’re back, we have to take a side, you realise. The losing one might be more fun…”
“Sides?” Banjooooo sneered, “Choose all the sides you’d like, I’m going back to my kingdom! I left this world long before my exile to Limbo, and I don’t plan to come back now.”
“But…” the dragon started, but Banjooooo had already vanished. He made a few lazy circles in the air before heading in the direction of Canada.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the day faded, a messenger arrived at the royal palace in London, England. No guards stopped him, no doors barred him. For he had a message for the king, from the United North America. He ran at full speed through the well-decorated halls until he came to a pair of ornate doors, covered with gold-encrusted pictures of mythological figures, particularly one woman. The messenger paused there and pulled on a rope hanging from the ceiling. Moments later, the door opened slowly. There was a red rug leading to some stairs. At the top of these stairs was the throne of the great king. And there he sat royally, awaiting the news. The messenger went to kneel in respect, but the king motioned for him to stand. Instead, he walked forward to hand a paper to the king, and then left the room. The giant man held the paper in his hand for a moment, then bowed his head to read it. A moment later, it fell from his grip, slowly falling to the carpeted floor. The king sat motionless for a time, seconds, minutes, or hours. It didn’t matter. Finally, he stood, leaning heavily on a battered stick. He drew in a deep breath, let it out, then drew in another. He let this one out as well, but in an ear-shattering bellow.

“I say thee NAY!!!”

Chapter 4- Fin Fang Foom

An endless palette of white-blue waves spanned from one point to the next, and the next, and the next; creating the illusion of an ocean with no land touching it.

Of the few structures which rose out of the Atlantic, the most notable was the tower of Oceania, where an important meeting was taking place. Two men sat in the executive suite at the top of the tower, sipping coffee and sitting across from each other at a circular table.

"They call you the last."

"The last what?"

"The last everything . The last hope, the last honest person, the last...hero."

"I suppose that much is true."

"It matters not--the time you and your friends spend on this world grows shorter as we speak."

"Why do you say that?"

"They seem to think that by regrouping, they can prevail--I shall prove them wrong. We're already tracking the dragon, and are getting coordinates on each one, one at a time, as the minutes go by."

"Your leaders don't share your confidence--I seem to recall two females who rule Oceania..."

"Their confidence will increase a thousandfold once we kill you--continuing the centuries-old tradition of killing the Messenger..."

------------------

The Departed had gone into convulsions moments ago, and writhed on the operating table. NTU-150 and Zip-150 struggled to keep him alive, but the being formerly known as Evil Spiffy was quickly approaching death.

"What's going on!?" shouted Dr. Moo. "I thought he could survive with spiffy dead?!?"

"He CAN--but he's connected to life through spiffy--and when spiffy died, that bond was just weakened, not destroyed. Now, someone's taking advantage of that weakness--but who?"

"Well, it's not ME..."

Visionary stumbled into the room, his eyes glazed over. Memories tore at him, memories of a life that couldn't be--the world was so horrible now, his happy memories could have never happened...or so he thought.

In truth, a name tugged at the recesses of his consciousness--a name which should have been long forgotten...

"If only there was another bond between The Departed and life..."

"There IS!!"

It was Lisa who'd shouted it--she was gazing at a monitor screen, on which the image of Fin Fang Foom appeared. She, and then the others, remembered how Finny had inadvertantly created Evil Spiffy.

"Hey, that's live footage...!" said NTU.

Jarvis stepped forward. "He's not alone!"

A fleet of fighter jets and superhumans tore after him, closing in for the kill.

"We have to do something!" said Fleabot.

"What's the use?" asked Jarvis. Years of misery had taken away his once quick-to-action edge. His weathered brow furrowed, and he clenched his fists. "NTU, you still have that jet? With the image inducer?"

"Yeah, it's in the third level garage."

"Then everybody load up--I've got a plan...!"

Seatbelts snapped, targeting computers booted up, controls were interfaced with NTU's onboard systems, and the jet fired out of a nearby rooftop...

------------------------

The Departed coughed as someone laid their hand on him, transferring back a stolen energy.

"What...what did you do to me...?"

"I merely ensured that your deathbed state would not be seen as a facade." said a horned, shadowy figure.

"Now...what...?"

"We grab that robot, and get to Oceania before these insufferable heroes do..."

-----------------------

"I appreciate the effort, really I do." The Messenger commented.

"You should--billions upon billions of dollars have been spent trying to eradicate you."

"And the others...?"

"We've had to ignore them somewhat, what with our other project."

"You mean the true purpose of Oceania?"

"Exactly."

The Messenger grimaced--he'd come here in the hopes of sorting out this insanity with Zemo, but ran into someone he hadn't expected to see instead...

"I take it that since you're not saying anything, you've realized the truth--that you have no hope of escaping Oceania, nor do you have any hope of surviving for another five seconds."

The man drew a high-tech gun, made a comment about cosmic energy ammo, and fired.

The shot hit right where it was supposed to--kind of. It flew right at the Messenger's head, but was intercepted by a few tons of debris, water, and a giant sea monkey.

"MY KINGDOM...WHAT DID YOU DO TO IT? WHY'S IT GONE!?!?"

Banjoooo recognized the Messenger, but gazed at the other man for a few moments before realizing his true identity.

"You--you're----Vision Girl!?!?"

Vision Girl tore her disguise off, revealing her true form as Space Ghost's retconned illegitimate sister. The tower they'd been in was now falling apart, and Banjooo plummeted down through the murky water to destroy the rest of Oceania in a fit of rage, while the Messenger and Vision Girl lunged at each other, fighting for their lives, as death by drowning and being crushed by flaming wreckage became more probable by the second...

-------------------------

An artificially-made army of superbeings and a trillion-dollar-budgeted military rocketed in pursuit of Fin Fang Foom, as he flew through the Canadian sky. He didn't understand--were these Zemo's troops, or someone else's? He'd been gone for so long, and the world looked so different...

A supersonic blur blasted past his pursuers, as NTU's jet hit Finny with a tractor beam, and he was drawn into the powerful craft. The superhumans took off after it, but NTU's piloting skill won the day, as he managed to avoid their attacks with his jet's fantastic array of weaponry--force fields, homing-beam lasers, shrapnel missiles, sonic cannons, reverse-gravity depth charges, and tons of other gadgetry.

"The windshield! OH MY GOD!!!" A grey-skinned mutant clung to the glass, trying to claw his way in--but the windshield heated up, marring his hands until they were black as ash, and a barrage of explosive shells made him fall back to the ground.

Missiles flew by them and energy beams did as well, but NTU managed to stay ahead of them, using the energy-couple on his jet's wings to absorb and discharge the energy back at its originators. Sub-nuclear fusion cluster beams blasted from NTU's jet's underbelly cannons, causing an unescapable maze of near-lethal energy.

A round metal orb with holes all over the top of it popped out of the jet's rear engine segment, and NTU plugged his hand into a specially-designed outlet--the repulsors from his palm were channelled to the device in the jet and charged up, at least releasing a hundred foot-wide beams in every direction, stunning their competition.

And then, the jet disappeared.

After hours of searching for it, a portal opened to Oceania, and the air fleet flew through it--along with an image induced-illusion of one of Zemo's personal bodyguard's aircraft, which in reality was NTU's jet...

-------------------------

The Messenger fought off Vision Girl as best he could, and wondered if she was one of Oceania's mysterious leaders--he knew the identity of one, but not the other...

While she could alter her density and had a form of solar telekinesis, she was easily manoeuvred into simple fighting moves, as the Messenger side-stepped her, shoving her into debris, exposed circuitry, and other classic traps. He at last grabbed an adamantium spoke of the opening wheel to an adamantium vault, and chased after her with it, finally knocking her out.

He did it right as the floor collapsed underneath them, and they fell hundreds of feet down an emergency elevator shaft...

------------------------------

NTU's jet landed safely in the forty-seventh hanger bay of Oceania's vast military complex, and they decided to look around so they could have more of an idea about the giant conspiracy that was supposedly going on.

"I don't like this..." said Jarvis. "Where is everybody? We should've run into some guards or something by now."

NTU stared off into space for a moment, and then looked at the others. "My sensors are picking up an intraband commwave system, the kind used for internal communication...it sounds like they're under attack--but by who?"

"By another of your pathetic allies!"

Sersi stood before Jarvis and co., thinly smiling.

"You!?!? You've turned against us!?!?" shouted Lisa.

"Not at all--rather, you've turned against me."

"She speaks the truth!"

Baron Zemo stepped out of the shadows, with his trademark Needler gun pointed at Hal Vanderbilt's head.

"What's going on here!??" demanded Visionary.

"I apologize for these...unfortunate...circumstances, but let me first formally introduce you to... Oceania!!!" said Zemo.

"Zemo gave me something the rest of the world never could--a way to have fun for the rest of my life!" Sersi, with a little "encouraging", had reverted back to her old ways, as in the myth where she lived on an island, partying for months at a time.

"Conquering the world is easy--KEEPING control of it, on the other hand...well, you need to have an advantage--and that's what Oceania is."

Sersi smiled more widely this time. "Oceania uses the most advanced pleasuring techniques in the world--we've measured the colors and styles of the surroundings for maximum psychological pleasing, treated the food with relaxing chemicals, genetically engineered sexual partners...in short, it's paradise. A new Eden."

"...don't forget addictive, my love..." Zemo grinned underneath his mask. "Once the world has tasted this place, they'll do ANYTHING to spend more time here--we've already got slaves, who have agreed to work for ten years, in exchange for a month here."

"No way, Zemo! You don't care about the current government in place, or about Oceania, or anything--you've got your own agenda!" said Vanderbilt.

"Silence, you pretentious wealthy fool!"

"This is just the beginning--the North American government and EuroAsian one have far worse plans than ours--we're the 'fun' one!!" said Sersi.

"But if you're thinking of attacking us, I'd suggest not--for Vanderbilt is not our only hostage..."

A hermetically-sealed series of walls opened, revealing the Shaper of Worlds, with massive, glowing chains imprisoning him. "Meet our own reality-altering power source!!"

Zemo backed against a wall, anticipating an attack, but none came--Jarvis merely hung his head in sorrow.

Zemo chuckled, and pulled the trigger...but not before he heard a rustle from above him.

Vision Girl fell on him, causing his shot to go awry, and the Messenger turned his descent into a jump kick, taking out Zemo.

Sersi, distracted and doped up by chemical treatments, couldn't react as fast as NTU, who let out a barrage of pulse bolts, hitting her. But even they couldn't hurt her that much...

But something else could. Something cold, and hard, and mystical...

Mjalcom clocked her, as Donar returned. But Zemo, still conscious, had a plan.

He patched the security camera feed into their propaganda-running television stations, and broadcast the image across the world. He then unleashed his backup plan--the Apostate, The Departed, and NTU's robot came in and surprised the remains of the LL, and the combined military might of Oceania finished the job, leaving only Donar standing.

"They think this is the second coming--and I'm not going to disappoint them..." Zemo said. "Donar--surrender your will to Sersi, so that we may use you as a puppet, with which we can lure the citizens of the world to Oceania, and our control shall then be complete--or they die."

Seeing no option, Donar was unduly influenced by Sersi, and she mentally prodded him into giving her complete control over him...and with two other sections of government with even larger and more evil plans still our there, things could only get worse...

Continued...

Chapter five- Jarvis

Jarvis stood unsteadily on his knees and slowly pulled himself up into a standing position. He surveyed the area. The rest of the LL lay at his feet on the floor of their underwater jail cell.

Jarvis: Zemo.

The door hissed open, and Baron Zemo stepped in.

Baron Zemo: You have done well, my friend, in leading your companions here. I shall reward you greatly. Still, one thing puzzles me. All these years, you were never a man who would sell out his own friends...have the years really changed you that much?

Jarvis: Better to be on the winning side of a war, no?

Baron Zemo: Heh. That is true. Come, my friend. Sersi has expressed interest in getting.... reacquainted with you.

As the door hissed shut behind him, Jarvis' stomach churned. He hadn't REALLY betrayed his friends, which was the important thing, he knew. He still felt like a heel for allying himself with Zemo, even if it wasn't for real, though.

Jarvis and Lisa had received orders from CR Command to infiltrate Zemo's underwater operation and communicate data via headset to Lisa. They hadn't really shared that information with the rest of the newly-formed Lair Legion, but that was really just a technicality.

He thought back to how this rag-tag team had formed in the first place...

Previous Day
Vanderbilt Tower
Parodiopolis

Vanderbilt: And just why should I share my information with you?

Jarvis: Because, Mr.Vanderbilt, we offer you a precious commodity in return.

Vanderbilt: I'm the richest man in the world, Mr. er, Vis. What could you hope to offer me?

Jarvis whipped a very large, very dangerous plasma cannon out of his briefcase and aimed it at Mr. Vanderbilt.

Jarvis: The atoms of your head not scattered all over your office walls.

Lisa: Of course, I would be willing to offer MYSELF in the package deal...

Jarvis: Y'know, we ARE married now, HONEY.

Lisa: Yeah, yeah...

Jarvis: *ahem* Also, we're willing to offer you this deluxe Canadian Resistance Brand water-proof umbrella for those days when it STILL won't stop raining. Some restrictions apply, void where prohibited. No refunds.

Vanderbilt: Fine, fine. Bring the...patient in, Daio.

Dr. Moo entered the room, followed by another familiar face.

Jarvis: V-vizh?

Visionary: YOU!

Visionary leapt halfway across the room and clutched Jarvis' throat as tight as he could.

Visionary: Why did you DO it?!

Jarvis: *gasp* Uh...come again?

Visionary :Why did you kill Cheryl, you bastard?!

Jarvis: Vizh...please...don't you remember? Cheryl died...during the...*koff* Incident...

Visionary: W-what? W-what...why can't I...remember?

Dr.Moo: We...REMOVED...a few memory circuits...

Visionary: Wha?! I'm REAL, dammit!

Jarvis: It happened *koff* five years ago...

"We all remember it well. Well, except for you, Vizh. It was when I made the biggest mistake of my life...it all started when I got elected as the Vice President of the United 15 States of America...

I...well, some people thought I was a genius, but to be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I made some bad decisions...sold some technology to some bad people....

Anyway, some advanced tech fell into the hands of some scientists in the New Soviet Union of Mother Russia, and they obviously didn't how to use it,because..."

Jarvis stopped, seeming to choke back tears at the thought of the mistakes he made.

"...they blew the NSUMR off the map. The fallout ended up taking out most of Europe. But before they did that, they managed to contact... something with it.

Using the tech, they had contacted what was basically the cosmic lawkeeper. It deemed Earth... unworthy. It would have destroyed the planet and the entire galaxy surrounding it, but the Lair Legion tried to stop it. It was the Lair Legion's final mission.

We sustained massive casualties. Chronicler, Yo, Starseed, Cheryl, Space Ghost, DarkHwk, Zip Mark 50, Falcon, GR....I don't have to tell you how many were killed, it was a massacre.

We came up with what was basically a suicide mission. The only one able to carry it out was Tina. She used her psychic powers to destroy the thing. But it took her with it..."

Jarvis put his head in his hands and looked away from the others.

Lisa: Honey, it wasn't your fault...you--

Jarvis: I failed in my job as leader of the Lair Legion. I should have found a way to beat it without risking the lives of the others.

Lisa: Jarvis, their JOB was risking their LIVES, Jarvis! There was no way to prevent it.

Vanderbilt: I weep for you. Anyway, there was no need to use force. I would've gladly helped you. I AM, after all, the leader of the Canadian Resistance...

Jarvis: Wha?! But they told us...

Suddenly, a large figure came crashing through the window.

NTU-150:You have to help him.

With him was the Departed, who, from the looks of it, was not very far from living up to his name.

Jarvis: NTU? It's been...

NTU-150:Not long enough, Jarvis.

Dr.Moo: If you boys are going to do your best impression of WCW Halloween Havoc, you'll find me in the infirmary, TREATING the PATIENT.

NTU-150: Sorry, Daio. Later,Jarvis.

Jarvis: COUNT on it.

They rushed him to the infirmary, where---

JARVIS!!!

Present Day

This time the call came over the comm-link louder than a whisper.

Jarvis: Sorry, sorry. I was lost in thought. What's up, Lis?

Lisa: Found any information that's useful yet?

Jarvis: Not much. Zemo doesn't really seem to trust me around anything sensitive yet. He does make a mean roast duck, though...

Lisa: Glad you've been enjoying yourself. WE'VE been getting Processed Kelp Food Supplement for mealtime...

Jarvis: Sorry. I'm in the security centre now. I'll see if I can't get you out of there...

Baron Zemo: Not so fast, Jarvis.

Jarvis turned around to see Zemo and a squad of security guards with very big laser rifles.

Jarvis:Um....

To Be Continued By Lisa....

Chapter six- Dr. Moo
RETURN TO THE PARODYVERSE: PART ONE OF DAIO'S CONTRIBUTION*

*After Lisa whined, complained and acted generally infantile, Daio agreed to cover Lisa's
talentless ass and write Lisa's portion of the RR. Lisa is eternally grateful to her beloved sister, as you too will be when you read Daio's hilarious prose.*

Unless you are bulletproof like Donar, staring down the muzzle of a gun is always an uncomfortable sensation. While Jarvis wasn't particularly afraid of dying, he was afraid of failing... again. At least he wasn't totally defenseless. Summoning the fragment of JarvisCosmic he'd recovered, he lashed out at the gun. It shimmered and turned into a large slimy very dead halibut. This startled everyone, especially Jarvis.

"Get him," Zemo recovered first and screamed, this being the most reasonable, logical and clich*d thing he could do at the moment.

Zemo's men jumped on the former gentlemen's gentleman. Jarvis used his JarvisCosmic power again, and the thugs turned into tiny bemused puggles.

That definitely was not what I had in mind, Jarvis thought as he scrambled backwards, panting. His JarvicCosmic power had never done this sort of thing before. And it was taking a lot out of him too.

Zemo has jumping up and down enraged. "Stoppen Sie ihn! Stoppen Sie ihn!"

Donar and Sersei exchanged looks and rather gingerly attacked. Jarvis was almost afraid to use his JarvisCosmic again. Donar had been a friend once. But what choice did he have? He focused and concentrated. This time things went more according to plan. A shimmer slammed Donar backwards into the wall. The Nordic warrior grunted in pain, but he did not turn into anything bizarre. Not that being a pseudo-Norse deity running Canada wasn't bizarre enough.

In the meantime, Sersei had gotten through Jarvis' defenses while he was watching in morbid fascination to see if Donar would turn into a pink toy poodle. The blow to his gut doubled him over, but he managed to summon his powers to fling her away before she could administer the coup de gras. This, unfortunately, though, set him up for Donar's round house punch.Jarvis and his Cosmic power went down for the count.

Donar limped over to Sersei, leaning heavily on Mjalcom(tm) and helped her to her feet.

Zemo stopped jumping up and down and returned to a slow boil. "Put him with the others," he snapped. Why the hell had he gone and spouted his mouth off like that. Telling the opposition your plans was something only the dumbest or most clich*-ridden villains ever did. And Zemo was no villain. He was the hero of his country. It was disturbing to say the least.

------------------------------------------------- Daio's Contribution, Part 2
*******

Jail cells tend to come in two varieties. Dark, dank, dingy and smelling of offal and worse things or bright, white and smelling of antiseptic and worse things. Having to spend a lot of time in prisons was one of the definite drawbacks of choosing a career in criminal defense law, Lisa mused. Of course, usually she wasn't locked in the cell but still...

The lucious legal expert turned her discerning gaze on her companions. She thought something more odd than usual was going on here. It was hard to be sure though. The fact that Visionary was sitting in a corner with his eyes squeezed shut loudly humming old Billy Joel songs was probably one of the more normal and sane things he could do given the circumstances. Banjooo, for his part, was staring blankly into space with a silly grin on his sea-monkey face, which given his entire kingdom had just disappeared from the face of the earth was either strange or not so strange, depending. Jarvis was woozy and still recovering from the nearly jaw-breaking punch Donar had landed, so it was hard to tell if he was acting normal or not. Normal, she decided. Lying on his back, rubbing his jaw and cursing was normal.

But other people were definitely not themselves. It was totally out of character to be trapped with Moo and not have her older sister try to get her to edit her evil prose by fair means or foul. But Moo seemed satisfied to draw pictures of winged cows with crowns and faery wands on the walls of their cells with a grease pencil. Now admittedly, Moo liked to draw, but usually she stuck to complex biochemical diagrams. Fin Fang Foom was chasing his scaly tail. Or was his tail chasing him? And NTU... Lisa blinked, NTU seemed to be trying to rewire himself. Finally, Hal was slowly and rhymically banging his head against the wall. Yes, something stranger than usually was going on...but what?

Just then the room shook, and everyone in it was momentarily deafened and stunned by an incredibly loud noise... well, everyone but Visionary, who merely hummed "Piano Man" louder...

Donar was going ballistic. Somehow being hit with JarvisCosmic had loosened Sersi's hold on him. "Verily, I shalt not stand for this!" he bellowed at the female mind-controller. "I am Donar, ruler of Canada. This Oceania 'tis not my concern." The handsome neo-viking's face convulsed. "Enough, do not violate my mind, evil sorceress. I wilt not allow thee to control the mighty Donar a moment longer. Donar's mission is to crush the resistance, not defend some watery bordello!" With that melodramatic statement ending his monologue, the sovereign head of Canada flew upwards and crashed through the roof, making a tremendous amount of mess and noise. The janitorial service was going to be peeved. Assuming they didn't all drown. Putting a hole in the roof of an underwater facility has some rather dramatic and undesirable effects. Water started to pour in. Believe me, this is bad. It would have been worse, except that Oceania's dome was self-repairing. Nevertheless, Sersi, Zemo and the contol room got throughly soaked before the repair mechanism could patch the hole.

Water and electronics don't mix well. Sparks flew, and circuits shorted.

"Gott im Himmel!" Zemo exclaimed as the board controlling the main defense grid went on the fritz. "What is happening here?!" A light was dawning. Zemo wasn't a stupid man. On the contrary. So, why was he doing such incredibly stupid and cliched things. Unless...Zemo whirled to glare at Sersi. "You! You are doing this!"

Next???????

OK, it's time for someone else continue this!!!

Chapter seven- The Shaper of Worlds

"You! You are doing this!" Zemo shouted accusingly at the half-narcotized Sersi, pointing his finger threateningly at her.

"NO, ZEMO, IT IS I!" Zemo and Sersi both turned at the sound of the stentorian voice, which seemed to fill the entire chamber. An incandescene brighter than a thousand suns filled the room, emanating from the hermetically sealed tube where The Shaper of Worlds was held. It was a scene Baron Zemo and Sersi would both remember for the rest of their lives. The Shaper's energy-bonds dissolved around him, and his eyes became twin stars that pierced the windows into Baron Zemo and Sersi's souls. The Shaper's countenance was almost too terrible to bear, although they were deer caught in those twin headlights, unable to move or even blink. And the Shaper opened his mouth and spake.

----------

The Legion's radiation-shielded jet-craft flew low in the sky over what had heretofore been The New Soviet Union of Mother Russia, now a desolate, blasted, and radioactive wasteland. For miles around, there was no trace of life or habitation whatsoever. A grey pallor hung over the land and fallout, a dirty snow, still fell upon the dead earth below, as if it was manna from heaven itself.

Inside, Jarvis stared out the window at the desolation below of which he knew he had been the cause. Russia had been totally levelled by the blast, of which the megatonnage had been incalculable. China, Japan, and much of Eastern Europe had all been irradiated to the point of being unfit for human life. Those places were now the domain of fallout and cockroaches. And it had all been his fault.

"Jarvis!" a voice dispelled his reverie.

"Yes?"

"We're here."

Everyone in the craft looked up at the wonderous tableau presented to them. A being seemingly comprised entirely of energy levitated high in the stratosphere above them. The Legionnaires strained their eyes and brains attempting to identify any recognizable features, but their efforts were in vain since it defied the contours of Euclidean geometry. The being called itself The Great and Terrible One, and from the reports of world authorities already on the scene, it had arrived, drawn by the massive amounts of energy released in the destruction of the NSUMR, to judge the earth. Suffice it to say, he had found the earth to be unworthy and was preparing to eradicate its existence from the cosmos. The Terrible One had to be stopped now before his rampage could further destroy the earth. He had already systematically razed the capitals of many of the world's nations, including Washington. However, as always, the turgid Lair Legion had come to the world's rescue--but would even they be effective?

----------

"The Legionnaires never stood a chance, did they, Chronicler?"

"They did not."

"Indeed."

The Chronicler of Stories and The Shaper of Worlds reclined in Chronicler's interdimensional library as Chronicler watched the events currently happening on Earth through the eyes of his all-seeing ravens, and recorded notable events in his august Book of Time.

"Events arrive at a conjunction," the being of pure knowledge spoke softly as a raven appeared and alighted on what passed for his shoulder.

"Yes, the time has come to rectify the mistakes of years gone by. The One who escaped to Earth has reawakened and is preparing to wreak havoc once again, just as he did those many years ago. It appears, my good Chronicler, that it is high time for me to involve myself in human affairs again to atone for my part in the world's current situation."

----------

The battle had been short and fierce. Every attack thrust of the Lair Legion had been repulsed by The Great and Terrible One, not to mention the fact that the ubiquitous radiation required many of the Legionnaires to wear protective rad-suits. The Legion had suffered heavy casualties before NTU-150 divined the psionic nature of The Terrible One's cosmic powers. It had only taken him and Jarvis moments to concoct a plan where Tina, channelling the mental energy of everyone on Earth, would obtrude that psychic energy into The Terrible One's form, disrupting the entity's energy matrix and dissipating his energy across Earth's electromagnetic spectrum. To make a long story short, the plan had worked--but at a price. In the resultant explosion, The Shaper of Worlds (M-body), The Chronicler of Stories (M-body), Fin Fang Foom, Banjooooo, Donar, Visionary, Cheryl, NTU-150, Roscoe, Markooooo, Elsqueevio, Yo, Starseed, Space Ghost, DarkHwk, Zip Mark 50, Falcon, GR, and Tina had all disappeared, and the survivors had been scattered across the face of the Earth by the tremendous release of eldritch energies.

Jarvis had awoken on a freighter in the Indian Ocean, where the crew told him he had been found floating in the sea, clinging to a piece of metal. It had been a miracle, they said, that they had discovered him when they did. And as Jarvis had looked up into the fading light, he fancied he could still see the outline of The Terrible One, etched across the starry sky...

----------

As the strange entity before him opened its terrible embrace to suck him into it, Baron Zemo's mind flashed back to the day shortly after "The Incident," when he had discovered this being who he had thought to be the Shaper...

The boots of Zemo and Dr. Moo's rad-suits left thick prints in the radioactive cesium and strontium metal coating the dead, blasted plain. Zemo had witnessed the entire exchange between the Lair Legion and the cosmic "Great and Terrible One" from a safe distance. After the battle had ended and the sky lit with the fire of ten-thousand suns, the ever opportunistic Zemo had witnessed a new type of fallout drifting down to the warm earth below.

"It's the Shaper of Worlds," Zemo had said.

"It appears so, Baron. What are we gonna do with him?" Moo replied.

"Simple, my dear Doktor Moo. We are going to use the Shaper as our own personal power source..."

And now, as The Great and Terrible One advanced upon him Zemo rued that day, that seemingly auspicious day, that great and terrible day.

"What--what is--the meaning of this?"

"You know perfectly well, Zemo! You erroneously believed that your rudimentary technologies could possibly contain ME? I am the one responsible for the current situation! I was the one who congregated you and the Lair Legion so that I could exact my righteous vengeance upon those responsible on THAT DAY! After my defeat, I fashioned myself after my...creator, The Shaper of Worlds! Thus, I knew you would attempt to utilize my cosmic powers in your schemes! And now, the seed which I planted those many years ago bears fruit..."

"But--but I am in control of the situation here!"

"No, Zemo! Once again, you are in error! The Great and Terrible One has returned, and his righteous fury WILL NOT BE DENIED."

As The Great and Terrible One approached Baron Zemo and Sersi, the omnipresent conflagration of energy began to flare ever brighter, until even not by shutting tight their eyelids could the two block out the light. So too, a rumbling, that ever increased until the tower of Oceania was quivering down to its very foundations. In the jail cell where they were being held prisoner, Jarvis, Lisa, Hal Vanderbilt, Fin Fang Foom, Visionary, Dr. Moo, Banjooo, and NTU-150 were all tossed about as the prison's walls played table tennis with their bodies. And that's when it happened.

The Terrible One advanced on Zemo and Sersi, but found himself checked by a sudden surge of cosmic energy as The Shaper of Worlds materialized.

"It would seem that I have arrived at the proper time."

"No! You...can't...stop...me!" Cosmic energy flared as The Great and Terrible One struggled against his creator's hold.

"Yes, I will stop you. I know not, nor do I care to know why you have been altering and twisting reality, but it ends now. Events must be set back upon their proper course."

The Shaper's eyes glared harshly for a moment, and then an all-consuming whiteness spread from every point of his form. Soon, the tower of Oceania and everyone in it were torn apart by a wild storm of elemental fury that rendered the tower...nonexistant. Afterwards, it was said that the light of the storm could be seen for miles around...

----------

Hal Vanderbilt, CEO of the Parody Comics Emporium, lounged in his commodious office and gazed into his magical crystal ball, yet another souvenir from his long centuries of existence. In it was framed the ruined tower of Oceania.

Vanderbilt smiled. So Zemo's plan had backfired on him. The incompetent fool...

"Who is more the fool, Vanderbilt? You or Zemo?" Vanderbilt turned at the sudden voice.

"What are YOU doing here?"

THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE stepped from the shadows of the dimly-lit room.

"I've just come to inform you that THOSE WHO SIT ABOVE IN SHADOW are very disappointed with you, Vanderbilt..."

----------

It was raining. Again. The tears of heaven poured down, as if to signify heaven's grief for the current deplorable state of the world. The rain poured down, creating rivulets of water through the deserted streets, as Jarvis and Lisa lurked outside Vanderbilt Tower, looking for a way in. Understandably, they were a bit confused. One moment, they had been in Oceania, imprisoned by Baron Zemo, the next, they were somewhere...else. They had come to Vanderbilt Tower, looking for answers, both as to what the hell just happened, and, at the behest of Fleabot and Zip-150, what the hell happened to spiffy, former leader of the Canadian resistance.

On roughly the other side of the North American continent, NTU-150 and the Departed, amazingly recovered, were searching for the two known only as Baron Zemo and Sersi--if they were still alive...

And from somewhere in the Ozarks, the ever inscrutable Apostate watched it all...

Continued...

Chapter eight, Visionary

“Still no sign of Zemo or Sersi” Magnetic Techbird reported. “The shareholders of the Baron’s corporation will undoubtedly know within the next twenty-four hours of their primary stockholder’s assumed demise.”

Hal Vanderbilt tapped his chin thoughtfully. Two less pieces of the puzzle to worry about, it would seem. Still, the gambit in Oceana was a truly grand scheme, a fitting end to Zemo’s career. Had he not lost control of The Terrible One, he could have finally succeeded in ruling the world. “Put our support behind Shifter,” HV ordered. “He’s most suited to be the new Chairman of the board, there… although be sure to emphasize that it’s an interim position, pending confirmation of Zemo’s death.” With that he switched off the view screen.

Ah, corporate politics… the only true politics remaining. HV turned his chair to look out over the rain-drenched skyline. If there was a pang of conscious, it was quickly squelched. A True Hero was willing to sacrifice his life for the betterment of the world, was he not? Then certainly, HV mused; one willing to sacrifice his soul deserved the title even more…

“Almost got it” Jarvis whispered, turning the final screw. The vent grate suddenly came free, forcing him to lunge to catch it before it could drop the twenty feet to the floor with a resounding clang. “Okay,” he said with a sigh of relief, “lower me down”

Lisa grabbed his wrist and slid forward in the vent until Jarvis was hanging halfway to the floor. After releasing him, she pulled herself out of the ventilation ducts as well, dropping gracefully to his side. A quick look around confirmed that the cavernous room was, indeed, deserted.

Jarvis pressed a button on the communications watch that the Canadian Resistance had provided for him. “All right,” he said, “We’re in. We seem to be…” he broke off as he gazed about the room.

“What? Where are you?” Fleabot asked hurriedly.

Lisa let out a low whistle, and then silently cursed. This was all they needed. “We’re in HV’s trophy room.”

There was a pause before the robot responded. “I… see. As I told you, those blueprints were old, and Vanderbilt Towers isn’t an easy building to get information about…”

Lisa ignored him, watching Jarvis carefully. They couldn’t have found themselves in a worse spot… especially with his delicate ego. The room was practically a museum to the defunct Lair Legion. Hanging from the ceiling was what seemed to be the restored Lairplane. Banjooo’s old water-tank was positioned along the back wall, and the head of the Giant Samurai Robot rested at the south end of the room. Jarvis was simply standing in front of a glass case, staring at a dusty chessboard. Lisa slowly walked around Zemo’s time platform to stand by his side. “It wasn’t your fault” she said again. She had been saying that for years. “It was a sacrifice that all of them were willing to make… you can’t keep blaming yourself.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over to one of the newer items, past the head of the robotic Hallie, past a rather curious purple pelt. In a Plexiglas display was what, to anyone else, would have been a mysterious exhibit; a life-sized mannequin wrapped in a brown, dead fern… much as a building is wrapped in ivy.

“Perhaps…” he finally said thoughtfully, “there have been far too many sacrifices for what we’ve gained in return.”

“I had to sedate him” The Diabolical Dr. Moo was saying as she connected the tubes to Visionary’s arm for another transfusion. Thankfully this was almost over… the fluorescent lights in the lab were giving her a splitting headache. “He woke up from the last session screaming.” She inspected the insertion, and started the flow of nanites.

“How far along is he now?” HV asked, looking at the prone man.

“The nanites have replaced about ninety percent of his original matter. It will take this last infusion another four to six hours to alter whatever remains of the original Visionary.”

“And then?”

Moo grinned, despite her throbbing head. “He’ll be immortal, incapable of being destroyed.” She examined his blood vessels as they swarmed with the microscopic circuitry. “Unlike the other test subjects, he was able to survive the process—most likely due to his unique original nature.”

HV sniffed dismissively, “What about his memory?”

The doctor made a face. “A delicate matter… As his brain is replaced by nano-circuits, we can continue to remove various parts of his long-term memory, but the risk is decreased mental aptitude.” She looked at him as he snorted. “True, he’s not exactly MENSA material right now, but at least he knows how to walk and talk… Mess with him too much, and that may change.”

A red light blinked on the phone hanging by the door. HV strode over and answered it with a curt “What?”. He listened for a moment, then replied “Hold your men back. I’ll send a… specialist… to deal with the situation.” He hung up the phone and turned back to the doctor. “It seems your sister and Jarvis have somehow entered the building…” he nodded towards the prone Visionary. “Wake him up, I want to see what he can do.”

“What?!” Moo exclaimed. “It’s too soon. We should at least wait for the final treatment to fully take effect…”

“I thought you said that the process has altered over ninety percent of his matter” HV said levelly. “What weakness could he possibly have?”

“His heart! You know that!” Moo snapped, intensely irritated. “We needed his circulatory system to spread the nanites! It’s one of the last organs to be altered!”

HV smiled. “Thank you doctor, that’s all I need to know.”

The Diabolical Dr. Moo felt an rush in the back of her skull, and her headache disappeared totally, at least for a moment. In that split second, she could almost swear that HV was wearing a polished steel mask, complete with jutting horns… but then she realized that she must have been mistaken.

“I believe you were about to wake him up…” HV prodded. “Isn’t that right?”

Vanderbilt Towers stood on the horizon, gleaming despite the constant rain that fell upon it. NTU went numb inside upon seeing it. Built out of a trampled society, protected by advanced technology… technology he himself had created and bestowed upon the rulers of the world. He knew that She had trusted his genius, and he had failed her. He gave his armors and inventions freely to make the world better, and he had failed it as well. It was time to take something back…

“Are you ready?” The Departed asked. The former Evil spiffy was constantly at his side, keeping NTU’s focus sharp.

NTU just nodded. Vanderbilt Towers stood as a symbol of every mistake he had made. He clenched a gauntleted fist and they continued on. By morning, he swore, it would stand no more.

Visionary was in the lab… He remembered the lab. He did not, however, remember anything before the lab. He watched as the man in the polished steel helmet dismissed the woman that had been working with him. He couldn’t remember much about her, either. He turned his attention to his wrist, where, if he concentrated, he could make what looked like a small energy weapon deploy from the back of his hand. He retracted it and deployed it again, and again. The skin opening up fascinated him almost as much as it repulsed him. Somewhere, in the back of what remained of his mind, he could here a faint, pathetic denial.

“Here” the horned man said, holding out a helmet. “You’ll need to wear this.”

Visionary took the helmet and fastened it under his chin before he even thought to ask why.

“You’re in charge of security” the man replied coolly. “There are two trespassers downstairs… It is you job to subdue them.”

“It… it is?” He asked quietly. He groped for answers in his mind, but none were forthcoming.

“The trespassers are extremely dangerous” the man informed him. “Do whatever is necessary to bring them in, and then you can go home… to Cheryl.”

“Cheryl?” No memories were sparked by the name, yet it seemed to ignite a terrible longing within him. “Yes… I’d like to go home… to Cheryl.”

The man nodded. “I believe…” he said quietly, “…that can be arraigned.”

“Jarvis…” Lisa prodded, concerned. “Jarvis… we’ve got to get going. Security could be here any minute.”

“Hmmmm?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from the mounted fern. “Oh… yes… right.” He hit the communicator button on his watch. “Which way now, Fleabot?”

There was a brief burst of static, and then the miniature robot's voice came back. “According to the original building designs, there should be an elevator shaft on the south side of that room that leads to the penthouse…”

They made their way across the room to stand before the colossal head of the Samurai Robot. “Could they have removed it?” Lisa asked, staring at the huge face.

“Possibly” Jarvis answered, “but I remember NTU telling me that there was an access tube in the back of this thing’s throat… a perfect place to hide a private elevator, I’d say.”

With little trepidation, they climbed into the gaping maw and made there way past the robotic tonsils. The elevator was there, all right. The bad news was that a laser grid blocked the doors, humming softly. Lisa nodded to the keypad. “Why don’t you and Fleabot see if you can hack into that thing…” she suggested. “I’m going to see if there’s a way to cut the power.”

Jarvis raised an eyebrow. “The penthouse is still thirty-odd stories up” he noted, “That’s a long way to climb.”

She flashed him a smile. “Infinitely more fun than being reduced to smoking particles…” she stated with a glance towards the laser beams. Jarvis simply shrugged. As she turned to inspect some huge cables running down the back of the tongue, they heard an echoing, thunderous *clang*.

“ATTENTION INTUDERS…” an amplified voice rang out. “THE ROOM HAS BEEN SEALED. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE FORCEABLY SUBDUED.” The voice had an odd, mechanical distortion to it.

Jarvis cursed. “We got trouble…” he whispered into the comm.-link. They crept to the lips of the GSR and peered out. A figure stood in the center of the room. Jarvis opened a video feed back to the Canadian Resistance headquarters. “Can you tell us what we’re up against?” he asked quietly.

There was another pulse of static, then Fleabot answered. “I don’t know where they came from, but this morning someone downloaded us the schematics for a Vanderbilt Security Drone…” he said warily. “According to this, it has incredible regenerative capabilities… my God, this is advanced tech… An army of these VSD’s would be unstoppable… our informant claims that only this prototype is successfully operational…” the robot paused. “If this is true, we’ll have to make sure things stay that way… You’ll have to destroy it.”

“And if it’s a lie?” Jarvis asked pointedly.

“Can’t take that chance.” Zip replied. “Besides, you’re the ones locked in a room with it…”

Lisa grunted. “Good point.” She turned back to her husband. “Go back and get that elevator working. I won’t take long.”

Jarvis looked like he was about to argue, but then thought better of it. “I’ve lost too many friends already, I don’t want to lose a wife, as well” he said, his eyes slightly haunted. “Just be careful…”

“As a mouse” she promised with a grin, crushing a giant incisor like one might crush a ball of tinfoil. She flipped on her own communicator. “All right, so how do we take this guy down?”

They weren’t coming. Visionary cursed under his helmet. The last thing he wanted was a fight. Besides, this room was all rather unnerving. There was a nagging familiarity about the place. Bizarre odds and ends filled trophy cases, collecting dust now that their mysterious purposes were over. In a way, he almost envied them.

Capture these intruders, he had been told, and he could go home (wherever that was) to Cheryl (whoever that was). Yet it was more than enough incentive, strangely, to flush these trespassers out. He just wished he didn’t have to play hide and seek with them…

Thankfully, the woman at least, decided to spare him the trouble. She came striding out of a tremendous robotic head, as casually as one might exit a shoe store. “Hiya, tall, dark and pneumatic…” she purred. “We’re you looking for little ol’ me?”

A shock of recognition ran through his mind like a brush fire, but it left no memories behind to explain the reaction. Instead, it had a decidedly more sinister effect… Visionary’s mind went into a seizure, and he nearly collapsed. When he finally regained control, he felt oddly detached from his body, as if it were somehow on auto-pilot. He turned to see the woman watching him carefully, a curious look on her face. “Hello, dear sister…” Visionary said in someone else’s voice, “about time you got here.”

“Moo?” the woman asked, shocked. “What…”

“HV intended my work to be turned against that butler husband of yours, but I left this little sleeper program behind as a special gift for you.” The doctor’s voice continued. “Family, above all, sister… that’s how it should be. You constantly blew me off to go gallivanting around with your Lair friends… how I hated you for that. Which makes this particular revenge so extra sweet. Good bye, Lisa… and remember, Cyanide is all natural too.”

Lisa stood there with a dumbfounded look on her face, making her an extremely easy target for the energy cannon extruding from the back of Visionary’s wrist. With a bright flash of light, the woman was flung savagely across the room, finally crashing through the mounted skeleton of a winged horse. Visionary pressed the attack, forcing her to dive aside. She skidded into a Plexiglas display holding a mailbag.

“Son of a…” she muttered, twisting, catlike, to her feet again. She thrust her hand into the bag, and pulled out a handful of postcards. With a wicked grin, she flung them at him with tremendous speed.

Not particularly afraid of cardboard, Visionary ignored the attack. That was an obvious mistake. The letters were extremely sharp, and bit deeply into his extended arm, severing his wrist completely. Interestingly, he felt no pain… Whether this was due to the programming of the doctor or simply a dulled nervous system was unclear. Even more interesting, however, was the fact that he had already begun to grow another hand… Wires and circuits were rushing forth from his severed wrist, collating into a simple skeletal structure in a matter of seconds.

Lisa watched this with a mixture of fear and disgust. Then she lifted a nearby light-blue, Ford Pinto over her head and brought it crushing down on top of him.

“What the hell was that?” Lisa demanded into her comm.-link, as she strove to put some distance between her and the VSD and to lead it farther away from Jarvis. It was already climbing out of the wrecked automobile.

“We told you it had incredible regenerative properties…” Zip reminded her. “You’ve got to get to it’s processor… it should be located in the center of the chest.”

She crouched behind a rocket-powered canoe and peeked back towards the mechanical monster that her sister had apparently sicced on her. It was walking slowly through the exhibits, and paused briefly to consider a Zorro costume hanging loosely on a mannequin. While his attention was diverted, she crept over to another display and removed a specific item with a grin.

Visionary looked behind the case containing a cracked gem, complete with warning labels about it’s use and abuse, as well as a small pendant, which had lost whatever luster it might have contained. Vague images fluttered across his mind, making it hard to concentrate. He walked past a pile of black feathers, and something labeled a ‘Movie Gun’, when he heard a slight noise behind him.

Spinning, he was just in time to see Lisa step out from behind a suit of battered, pink armor. “Let me introduce you to a favorite of mine…” She shot him with some kind of ray, flinging him backwards through a collection of hats to crash into the side of a huge water tank. “Consider yourself spanked” she said smugly.

He regained his footing, but not before she could slowly lift a depressingly colored, ominous tour-bus… She swung the great vehicle around and finally released it. Sparks flew as it scraped along the floor on its side with tremendous speed, crashing into him and pushing him through the glass wall of the tank. Huge shards of glass punctured his body as gallons of salt water washed over him.

Pinned beneath the massive vehicle, his wounds began to repair themselves. Lisa approached him, hefting a sword with a gold and purple hilt. “You’re still not dead?” she asked, shaking her head in amazement. “Are you for real?”

Visionary glanced to the wires and components that were rebuilding his body. Whatever faint denial had been crying out in the back of his mind finally died away. “No…” he said sadly as she raised the sword. “…I suppose not.”

She plunged the blade down through its chest with her enhanced strength. He made no attempt to resist.

Blood. There shouldn’t be blood, Lisa thought, freezing at the sight of the crimson liquid coating the sword. She looked down at the VSD. It was still breathing very faintly (why did a machine need to breath?), but the wounds were no longer regenerating. Beneath the thing’s cracked visor, she could see lips moving.

She carefully knelt down and listened to the thing’s voice for the first time without the helmet’s electronic distortion.

“Yes Yo…” it said weakly, unfocused. A chill ran threw her at the name. “I think I’d like that… very… much…”

Her sister’s words came back to her… “You constantly blew me off to go gallivanting around with your Lair friends… which makes this particular revenge so extra sweet…”

The VSD had stopped moving. Slowly, she reached to undo the chinstrap holding on the helmet.

“Lisa!” Jarvis cried, startling her. “My God… look at this place… are you all right?”

She sighed, tightened the strap with shaking hands and turned to face him. He stood in the midst of the wreckage, the twisted reminders of their past strewn about the floor. “Too many friends…” she said softly to herself before raising her eyes to meet his gaze. “I’m fine” she assured him in her most cocky tone of voice.

He nodded with obvious relief. “We’ve cracked the code to the elevator… are you ready?”

Lisa looked at the remaining trophy cases, lingering on the one containing the dead fern. The past propped up for one man’s private entertainment. “Is that laser grid still operational?” she asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

Her husband blinked in surprise. “It could be… why?”

Though the time being spent was making him incredibly nervous, Jarvis didn’t question Lisa as they gathered up as many of the personal items from the trophy room as possible and, one by one, feed them into the laser grid. Each one disappeared in a bright flash, leaving only free molecules and a slightly metallic odor to mark it’s passing. In truth, with each one burned away, Jarvis felt as though a burden was lifted. He wondered if this was what his wife had in mind all along…

Finally, Lisa returned carrying the body of the VSD. Wires and circuits ran from various openings on it, creating a horrifying hybrid of seeming flesh and machine. “What *is* that thing?” he asked, repulsed.

Without pause, Lisa hefted it into the laser field, where it flashed briefly and then was gone, leaving a slight wisp of smoke. “Just a memory, now.” Lisa answered quietly. She cleared her throat. “Well… Let’s move on. I think we’ve both spent enough time living in the past…”

to be continued by the Chronicler of Stories…

Return to the Parodyverse, Chapter Nine. CoS

The Man Who Wasn’t There smiled grimly as he exited the Zemo Tube. “Ah. Those Who Sit Above. I see. Apparently, the time has come for our discussion.” Four mysterious, cosmic beings approached him. The wisest of them nodded his head decisively. “Indeed. The time of judgement is at hand. You know what must happen. You know what you must do. “

The Man Who Wasn’t There bowed to the beings who controlled all, and returned to Earth. Two decades ago… he’d been sent there. His job is rather simple, rather frighteningly simple. He must judge the fate of humanity.

Baron Zemo couldn’t believe the idiocy of the surviving denizens of the Parodyverse. He was alive… alive, and more powerful than he’d ever been. He had a plan, an ultimate plan, and nothing would stand in his way. “The Dark Knight was right; the element of surprise really is effective. I’ll need to make a note of that over his monument.” Zemo continued on his path to Atlantis…propelled via a rather unusual source of flight.

Banjooo was depressed. Losing your entire kingdom would tend to have that effect on you. Which was why he’d taken up living with Fin Fang Foom, who watched over the former King of the Sea Monkeys. Banjooo’s emotions were killing him inside… and Foom could only try and help as much as he could. Usually, Foom did a lot of physical care and labor for Banjooo… but circumstances would seem to dictate otherwise.

Baron Zemo smashed into the emotionally battered heroes’ lair, hidden deep within Atlantis. Foom squinted at the object Zemo had in his hand… and couldn’t believe what he saw. This disbelief didn’t help him at all; Zemo unleashed a massive uppercut on the dragon’s jaw, using the weapon to its fullest extent and causing the shape-shifter to visit the ionosphere.

Zemo smiled villainously then tapped the familiar object into his palm repeatedly. “I really must thank Donar for the use of his splendid weapon; whenever I decide to find out what happened to him, that is…”

Banjooo stammered, “I…I…I know what yuh-you’re planning, and, uh, I…I…I…wuh-won’t stand fuh-for it. I…I…I… am guh-gonna tuh-take you duh-down…”

An angry Makulan dragon re-entered the fray, hitting the Mjalcom-carrying Zemo in the stomach with the concussion force of an Armageddon-causing comet. Mjalcom™ allowed Zemo to roll with the force, causing the dragon to bounce off like a thirty-ton rubber ball. Banjooo quickly erected Atlantis’ forcefields, and prayed for minimal damage.

The battle was swift, intense, and rather short. Zemo stood over the fallen, seemingly unconscious dragon, set down Mjalcom™ and pulled down a very important, two-handed switch. Zemo laughed triumphantly. “Let’s see those pathetic bastards in Parodiopolis survive a hydrogen bomb…” As Zemo’s laughter faded, he mentally thanked the foolishness of Sersi; who’d allowed him to gain control of the world’s most important, and only hydrogen bomb. “I’d like to thank all the little, gullible, people for such an important… and foolish… contribution.” A gulf of flame encircled Zemo.

A battered, nearly dead Fin Fang Foom stood in front of him. “You don’t have Mjalcom anymore, Zemo… and, hell, if I can’t stop you from taking out Parodiopolis, then I can sure as HELL take YOU out.”

Zemo gulped… but realized that his plan had come to fruition. And none could stop him. As Foom readied himself to cave Zemo’s skull in, Zemo smiled. “Do your worst, dragon… it’s of little consequence now.”

The Man Who Wasn’t There returned to the location of Those Who Sit In Shadow. The wisest of them looked as if a terrible burden had been lifted from his shoulders. And when he spoke, it was as if whole galaxies shook in fear of his terrible anger. “We have already decided judgement. Humanity shall perish; they are unworthy to live.”

The most potentially powerful of them agreed. “Indeed. Though I shape worlds, Earth must die. Humanity has become a disease… and we shall be their cure.”

The other two individuals Who Sat In Shadow were less important than those who spoke. Their function was to be jury… and the other’s was to be a pleasure to the jury. And ravens encircled the wisest one, attracted to his years of hidden pain and cumulative rage. The Terrible One’s betrayal had caused his friend, a magnificent world shaper, harm. So it was only right that his forces struck back. With no fear of reprisal, no mercy, and hard and fast. None would survive. For none deserved to survive.

The Man Who Wasn’t There approached the other beings, mentally preparing himself for the transformation into the Avatar: the destroyer of everything humanity held dear.

The wisest being in the universe mentally visited two graves. These were graves that contained beings he’d created… beings that had died early in the war. A knight of darkness and a being of disgruntled, evil creativity. He wished himself peace. And with that bit of farewell accomplished, the wisest being in the universe joined the Others Who Sat In Shadow and began the ritual that would change The Man Who Wasn’t There.

He removed his hood, and a terrible light, born of negative emotion, slowly tiptoed its way into the room. The room grew hazy, and full of red as evil as that of the most vengeful demons. And humanity's destruction was begun...

Chapter ten, spiffy

First was calm. Utter, undying calm. Loss, pain, and regret could be forgotten. He felt as though wave after wave of cool water were washing over him. He dimly registered a companion in the room, one that was all too familiar to him… but there was no threat. His mind returned to its state of bliss.
Then, a sudden flash of movement! There was a stunning noise and the roof collapsed. A figure shot down from the heavens and, pausing only a moment upon landing, attacked his companion. The dragon shot through the roof, the opposite of the newcomer. The king of sea monkeys tried desperately to make his mind work, to understand what had happened and what his reaction must be. The struggle to focus his eyes was fiercer than any he had experienced against hordes of villains. Finally, after an eternity, he made out a figure in purple chuckling to himself. The name escaped him, but it was an enemy. He stuttered out an attempt to be threatening, but this only seemed to push the villain to new levels of hilarity. This upset Banjooooo, but he couldn’t understand why.
As he continued to battle his sluggish mind, Fin Fang Foom returned, attacking Zemo with all his fading strength. His initial blow was shrugged off, but the full force of a Makulan dragon is nothing to be laughed at. His wrath was a tremendous thing, as was the powers of the Baron. Finally, the villain triumphed, holding some sort of weapon over his head. Banjooooo rested his chin on his chest, breathing heavily, trying to fight off whatever had taken control of him before it was too late. To his dismay, the villain’s laughter told him that it already was. Something had happened, and he’d been helpless to stop it. He doubled his efforts to be free.
It had been folly on Zemo’s part to think the dragon unconscious. He paid for the mistake. Fin Fang Foom rose to his full height, an awe-inspiring sight to see. An instant later, it was over. The dragon’s fangs closed on Zemo’s skull. The purple cloth split, exposing crushed bone and oozing blood. Some of it splattered on Banjooooo’s face. For some reason, this helped clear his mind a bit. He shook his head to rid it of cobwebs, then looked to the floor. There lay the dragon, barely conscious. He felt no sadness, only a bit of pity. Strange, considering this was the one that had cared for him in the past days.
“Banjooooo… I got ‘im…” Fin Fang Foom said weakly.
“Sure did,” the sea monkey replied.
“Tasted like… really crappy chicken,” he joked.
“I bet. You gonna make it or not?”
“Nice to see you’re… still sympathetic,” he coughed, “No… no, I don’t think I will.”
“Here I thought you were invincible. Easy come, easy go,” he turned to leave.
“Hey, wait! Aren’t you… gonna stop… the bomb?”
“Bomb?” he said over his shoulder. “I was a bit too groggy to notice. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that…?”
Finny sighed. “So I drugged you… big deal… you were… getting a bit violent.”
“A shame.” Banjooooo turned to the exit once more.
“Where’re you going? You’ve got to… stop it!”
“I don’t owe the world a thing, Finny,” he said, not turning. “My kingdom’s gone, my team is dead. Hell, if they get blown to bits, I get more time to myself. What’s the problem?”
“Nothing, man… nothing except…” he paused, gasping for breath. “Except… for these…” he wheezed, tossing something at the sea monkey. Banjooooo caught it, glanced down at his hand, and froze. “Thought that would get you…”
Banjooooo said nothing, and Finny grinned sickly. Abruptly the sea monkey turned and vanished down a corridor. Fin Fang Foom’s grin faded, but a glint stayed in his eyes. He closed them, and slowly the rising and falling of his chest stopped.

In the outskirts of Parodiopolis, there wasn’t much activity. Ever since the Incident, life in the Parodyverse had revolved around the giant industries, there simply wasn’t room for independent living. Farmer Bob’s house was an example of this. Once a prime example of country living, it was now only a shell. Some of its support structures stood, and the foundation was there. But the inside was hollow, gutted. The wooden beams were half-rotted, and looked as though a simple breeze could cause their collapse. And that’s probably what would have happened. That is, if the breeze were given a chance.
The air rippled with heat as flame shot down from the sky. Whatever it was slammed through the old house, annihilating it. It exploded into the earth several meters further, burying itself deep into the ground. Debris shot up, then fell back down. Quiet returned.
Then a hand appeared from under the wreckage.

The silence of the alley was interrupted with the sound of ragged breaths. A single pair of booted feet ran through, scattering puddles and crushing a soggy cardboard box. He left the alley, and calm reigned for all of five seconds. Then three pairs of feet followed the same path as the first, entering and leaving the alley in less time than it takes to tell. The sounds of gunfire echoed through the streets.

“So, honey,” Lisa grunted, hefting another group of guards through the wall, “Was this how you saw married life?”
“Pretty much,” he said distractedly, fiddling with a control panel, “Except with less constant hounding and battles, and more sleep.”
“Sleep is overrated. The night can be used for so many other things,” she replied mischievously as she barricaded the nearby door. “Not to rush you, but you almost finished? Vanderbilt’s groupies are almost getting annoying.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” he muttered, then gave a shout of success. “There we go!”
Lisa looked around. “What… exactly did that do, dear?”
“Uh…” Jarvis looked somewhat sheepish. “I was hoping it was his main security system… guess not. So either I’ve somehow disabled… something, or I wired his microwave to his television.”
“Now I know why I keep you around,” she sighed. A pounding came from behind the barricaded door. “They’re ba-ack…”
“Think you can take ‘em?”
“I dunno, Jarvikins… the last bunch took a lot out of me. Think you could lend a hand?”
Jarvis sighed. “This takes forever to recharge, y’know.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
“Which would be…?”
“The ‘Lisa not being killed’ Foundation.”
“I donated to that last year…”
“Giving has its own rewards. I can think of at least six right now… and I think you’d enjoy each of them.”
“Sold,” he grinned. “So how many of ‘em do you figure there are?” At that moment, the door blew inwards and three dozen grunts poured in.
“’Bout that many,” she replied, leaping for the first batch.
“You’re such a help,” he said, readying an energy blast. It was another one of those nights.

It had not been a good day for Gazza. He had forgotten to set his alarm the night before, and slept in. This had left him with ten minutes to get to work. He had quickly showered, skipped breakfast, and sped over to the royal palace with a minute and a half to spare. He had arrived in the change room with thirty seconds left, switched clothes, and arrived at his post exactly one second late. His supervisor had docked his pay.
Ever since then, Gazza had been rotating between several posts on the east wall, and continuously thinking evil thoughts about his supervisor. He had to admit that it wasn’t a bad job, if a bit strict and monotonous. Guarding Oceania’s leaders had its glory, but the fact was, no one knew enough about the leaders to bother attacking them. This left the guards with a slack, well-paying, and mind-numbing job. Gazza cursed his supervisor a few more times for good measure.
As he bent over to pick up what appeared to be a penny, he noticed a large, fast-moving shadow on the ground. He glanced upwards, and the breath caught in his throat. Directly above him was a veritable army of flying robots, each armed with enormous weapons of all types imaginable. Gazza swore under his breath and struggled to release the radio from his belt while running to a nearby gun turret. He tripped over a loose brick at the same moment as he loosed the radio. It went flying several meters in front of him. Swearing under his breath, he started crawling over to it, freeing his gun at the same time. When he was in reach of his target, though, the worst of all possibilities came to be. A pair of metal feet came to rest between him and the radio. The boot jets slowly turned off as the robot came to a landing. It didn’t even look down at him, but peered around. Noticing the gun turret, it calmly raised an arm. An instant later, the turret had vanished in a ball of flame. The robot didn’t flinch.
Gazza frantically went over his options. Retreat wasn’t very likely to succeed, with the firepower this thing had. Surrender was just as risky. He sighed, and resignedly raised his weapon, its muzzle pointed at the thing’s chest. He fired, and the special ammo ripped through the metal cavity. He breathed a sigh of relief, for he hadn’t really expected that to work. The sigh turned into a gasp as he saw the robot’s head move. It glanced downwards, as if examining its smoking chest, then its glowing eyes focused on him. He gulped as its arm slowly aimed at his head.

He had made his way slowly from the countryside to the edge of Parodiopolis. It had taken him an indeterminate amount of time, for he had crawled the entire way. He needed food, water, and sleep. Unfortunately, he was to receive none of these. For the centipede was then squashed by an enormous, powerful hand. The man was battered and bruised, his face hidden in the shadows. He was slowly making his way through the city streets, steadily approaching the center. He had been crawling for hours, ever since his landing kilometers away. He had a goal. And he meant to accomplish it.

The man had paused for breath in a doorway, hidden in the shadows. He was hunched over, gasping for breath. He knew that he couldn’t stay there long, and that there were several men after him. But he also knew that he was sick and tired of running. That’s about all he’d been doing for years. Ever since his destiny had been revealed.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a shot rang out, and a chip flew out of the wall in front of his face. He whirled around and peered out into the alleyway, but could see no one. Three more shots revealed that someone was there. He leapt behind a nearby dumpster and reached into his back pocket. Taking a deep breath, he spun around the corner and whipped several objects at seemingly random angles. He was rewarded with several cries of pain. With a triumphant grin, he strode into the open. He wasn’t cut down by gunfire. Whistling, he wandered away, in the general direction of downtown. All that was left were several men, each stuck to a wall with what looked suspiciously like razor-sharp envelopes.

“Well? How are we doing?” NTU-150 asked insistently.
“Have I mentioned that this needs concentration?” the Departed asked coldly.
“For heaven’s sakes, you’re more than powerful enough to handle this. So?”
The Departed sighed. “Oceania has fallen, the palace was taken. The Euroasian capital was taken with surprisingly little resistance. The United South America was in enough trouble before you interfered. Your robots have ignited conflicts again. Whatever government exists will be in shambles by morning. And,” he paused, then continued, “you’ll be happy to hear that Vanderbilt’s having troubles of his own.”
NTU, who had grown obviously more cheerful with each listed victory, suddenly became serious. “Troubles? Could this interfere with our plans?”
“Not at all. The Canadian Resistance is invading. The added chaos can only help us. Now, are you prepared?”
“Of course!” NTU cried, insulted. “The question is, are you?”
The Departed replied with a gesture that blew the front doors off of Vanderbilt Towers. “After you.”
The pair strode confidently into the lobby, where they found a couple dozen guns pointed at them.
“Evening, fellows,” NTU called out cheerfully. “I’d suggest putting those down, else my friend here won’t be too pleased.” The guards didn’t flinch. NTU shrugged. “I warned you.” The Departed raised both arms, and fire ripped out of each muzzle. None of it reached the intruders, but splashed off of an energy shield. The Departed chuckled, and suddenly the men exploded.
“Violence does have a certain charm,” he said thoughtfully.
“That was a touch gratuitous, you have to admit.”
“Even I have to have some fun every once and a while.”
NTU didn’t answer this, but walked purposefully to the stairs. He paused at the door and gestured to the Departed to follow. They made their way up several floors, and through many guards. At the seventh level, they found themselves facing a television screen. On it was the face of Hal Vanderbilt.
“NTU-150,” he murmured. “I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to see you.”
“You do realise that you have no chance, Vanderbilt,” NTU said arrogantly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied smugly. “I suppose it would be useless to try and reason with you?”
“I don’t think you’re in the place to bargain.”
“I beg to differ.” Vanderbilt snapped his fingers, and dozens of cannons appeared from the wall. Before NTU could react or the Departed could erect a shield, lasers shot out from all corners of the staircase. NTU-150 was annihilated without being able to scream. The Departed glanced at the still present cannons, then turned to Vanderbilt with a bemused look on his face.
“Well played,” he said simply.
“I thought so. Any reason I shouldn’t do the same to you?”
“Well, there are the explosives set at key support structures around the building, but I’d like to think that, as adults, we can discuss this without bringing those into the picture.”
“Are you suggesting a bargain of some sort?”
“Well, we are in a bit of a stalemate. You could doubtless vaporise me, but I could level your building. Neither suits my goals.”
“And those would be?”
The Departed chuckled. “I just don’t want to be bored.”

“Dammit, why did he have to do that?” Banjooooo muttered to himself as he sped through the air. “Of all things… I’m not a hero anymore, all I wanted was some peace and quiet.”
The king of sea monkeys had been flying almost non-stop since the confrontation with Zemo to try and stop the hydrogen bomb. He had been slowly gaining ever since, but now it was nearing Parodiopolis and he still had quite a way to go. Cursing himself and Fin Fang Foom, he pushed on the speed. As they passed over the remains, he managed to grab onto one of the tail fins. He pulled himself up onto the body of the missile at a painstakingly slow pace and anchored himself securely. By this time, they were well into the outer limits of Parodiopolis. He took a deep breath, glanced down at the deadly weapon below him, and realised something.
“I’m sitting on a freakin’ H-Bomb!” he yelled. Frantically, his hands went to work, searching for any means of prying open the thing and rewiring it, either to stop the explosion or to change its course. Unfortunately, the outer carapace seemed to be seamless. Growling in frustration, he concentrated on shifting his weight to aim it at the horizon. It seemed to be working until the jets kicked in and automatically steadied the course. He swore. They were now coming dangerously close to the roofs of buildings below. It was far too late for him to get out of the destruction zone. There was only one option left. He closed his eyes tightly, and slammed his fists through the bomb’s surface. Searching quickly, he took whatever handhold he could, and pulled with all his might. An inner section of the bomb came loose in his arms. He had no time for self-congratulation, for the bomb was nearing the ground. Praying that he’d done enough, Banjooooo leaped off the projectile and soared high into the air. If it had worked, he would be more than far enough away. If it hadn’t, then he’d be dead.
The bomb slammed into the ground.
An explosion ripped it to shreds, consuming everything around it.
Banjooooo sighed, and folded his arms, in what he expected to be the last seconds of his time on earth.
But his death never came.
The explosion was already calming, leaving flaming buildings and fiery debris, but nothing else. Banjooooo had removed both the atom and hydrogen bombs from inside, leaving only the kilograms of TNT. He had won. Breathing a sigh of relief, he reached beneath a scale and pulled out the prize that Fin Fang Foom had rewarded him. The last sea monkey eggs. With the eggs in one hand and the remains of the bomb under his arm, he began the journey back to his kingdom.

Donar had finally arrived within sight of his target. Vanderbilt Towers loomed above him. He had crawled through half the city, unable to summon the strength to even stand. The loss of Mjalcom had weakened him greatly. But now, he would be able to understand. He would be able to find the source of the threat to his kingdom. Whether it be Vanderbilt, the Canadian Resistance, or an unnamed third party, the king of Euroasia would squash the menace like the insect he had killed earlier. If only he could manage the last few blocks.
As he reached out yet again, ready to pull himself forward another meter or so, something made him look up. It could have been some Ausgardian sense, or maybe he saw a shadow on the ground. Either way, what he saw was not welcome. Almost directly above him was Banjooooo, king of sea monkeys, shooting into the air. More importantly, a missile was plummeting downwards, to its inevitable landing site about a half block between him and the Towers. With his last breath, he swore revenge on those who would threaten his kingdom. And then Zemo’s last act ended the Ausgardian’s life.

It had not been a good day for Samson. He had ignored his alarm after a long night of drinking, and slept in. This had left him with seven minutes to get to work. Forgoing his shower, he had hurriedly dressed and slammed a bowl of cereal down his throat, and practically flew to Vanderbilt Towers. He had arrived in the change room with twenty-five seconds to spare, had switched into his uniform, and had arrived at his post three minutes late. His pay had been severely docked.
And now, after almost a full day of cursing his supervisor and the world in general, they were being invaded by two separate groups. His squadron had been sent after the head group of the Canadian Rebels. The ones that happened to have superpowers. He was severely displeased.
His mood didn’t improve when suddenly the building was rocked by an explosion outside.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted, struggling to stand.
“Forget it!” the squad leader yelled back, “Nothing short of an H-Bomb could take this place down! Now, converge on sector 53!”
Samson muttered something about how bad a day this was turning out to be, then finally got to his feet and sprinted after his group. He caught up to them just in time to see a stunning woman rip a good chunk of the wall out, causing the ceiling to collapse on his fellow guards. He stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen, then raised his gun. This caused the woman to notice him.
“Jarvikins, I missed one! Would you mind finishing him? I think I broke a nail.”
“I did mention this stuff takes forever to recharge, right?” he muttered, raising a fist nonetheless. Samson was rooted to the spot as a light began to form around the man’s hand. Within seconds it was glowing brightly. He instinctively raised his hands to protect his face as the energy shot at him. It splashed harmlessly off his wrists. The man looked down at his fist, disgusted.
“I used to be able to do a lot more than THAT without recharging. Honey, change of plans, you take him.”
“Fine, but you owe me,” she said, striding forward. Samson raised his gun to point at her, but she calmly reached over and crushed the muzzle. “Hey, you’re kinda cute… maybe after this whole invasion business, we could go out sometime,” she smiled.
“I am right here, y’know,” Samson heard the man say as her fist introduced him to unconsciousness.

As the man sat exhausted, hidden behind a pile of trash, his mind wandered back to his past. He had once been a hero, admired by the people. He had fought countless battles, often failing, but never giving up. He and his friends had always ended up triumphant. That is, until the Battle of Destinies. None of them remembered it, except for him. Boy, am I the lucky one, he thought dryly. The details weren’t clear, and not particularly important, but they had gone up against a foe that knew their futures. As he confronted each of them, their fates had been revealed. And, as suddenly as he had arrived, he had left, leaving no memory of the occurrence with any of them.
Except for him.
His destiny hadn’t been a particularly cheerful one. It certainly had its good parts. Staying with the Lair Legion, he would fight a good many battles. In fact, he would have been crucial in one of them, so the prophecy said. He would be the one to stop the destroyer, and save the earth. He would be the world’s hero and saviour. But there was a downside, and it was a whopper.
His death was supposed to herald the end of the world.
Desperate to change his future, he had quit the Legion and gone off on his own, living in isolation, hoping that a lack of human contact would somehow eliminate his effect on humanity’s fate. He kept himself informed through television and radio. Years later, he heard of the arrival of the Terrible One.
At first, he thought this would be just another battle in which the Legion would come out triumphant. But as the reports came through, he slowly came to realise that this was the battle prophesized to him. This was where he was supposed to triumph.
He did nothing, but continued to listen to reports. They became grimmer and grimmer, but he never gave up the hope that his former teammates would prevail. As they fell, one by one, so did his optimism. Finally, he decided that no destiny was worth the death of his friends, and, using the last of his money, had bought an airplane ticket to as close to the battle as possible.
When he arrived, everyone was gone.
He didn’t know what had happened, and had searched for clues. Eventually, he had discovered the truth, and his mind had snapped. For weeks, months, or years, he had stumbled drunkenly around the globe, in despair over his failure. When he finally sobered up, he found himself being gunned down by a group of assassins. It seemed that he had told everyone near him about his destiny, and an Armageddon cult had found out. They wanted him dead.
For years now, he had been running from them, not only to save his own life, but to save the world. He had no way of knowing whether the prophecy still held true, but he couldn’t risk it. He somehow knew, from the instant that he heard the words “With the death of the Messenger comes the death of all,” that he could never escape, that he was fighting the inevitable. And he was so tired.
“So tired…” he murmured.
“Then let me put you to sleep, pal,” grunted a rough voice from beside him. In an instant, Messenger had pulled out a handful of razor-sharp envelopes and had whipped them at the source of the voice. In the same instant, the assassin had shot. The gun had been point blank range from Messenger’s head. The bullet had entered through his eye to his brain. The man had died instantly, but the assassin had paid the price. The envelopes had cut him to ribbons. He was dying, and he knew it. But he didn’t seem terribly upset.
“The end is near,” he gloated. “The end… is here.” As the world turned dark, he saw a figure appear in midair in front of him. He smiled, and his world ended, knowing that the real world would soon follow.

Chapter Eleven

The sky is bleeding.

And as its life’s blood effuses across your dampened skin, you turn your face upward to watch it. To watch it die.

A crimson haze marks the horizon line. The dark abyss pouring forth from the heavens is marked with the scarring of chaotic fulgurations through which torrents of rain escape. The cloudburst seems to ignite in mid-air. To hiss in pain as it escapes with the fervor of an entrapped beast. It becomes one with the atmosphere, the scarlet visage of each drop merging completely with the crimson haze of the sky. Until you can’t even tell one from the other. They are one in the same.

It is then that you realize that the sky stopped bleeding long ago. The sky is merely being drained of all that it has left to give. It is already dead.

Hal Vanderbilt had never felt more alive.

He stands on the great escarpment atop his building, overlooking the city below. It juts out from his office floor like an eagle’s perch. Mathematics would dictate that it should have violently snapped and plummeted to the ground long ago. But Hal Vanderbilt has never been one for following the rules. Or for acknowledging them. The parapet appears to be but typical stone, for sure, but Hal Vanderbilt knows better. The balcony banister is solid, strong. The short columns which bear it’s mass are modeled after the Corinthian style column of classical times. With Vanderbilt’s own stylistic additions, of course.

Vanderbilt closes his eyes, allowing the water to pelt his body, to run down his youthful face and blonde hair, to soak his body to the bone. He is calmed by the thunderclaps that reverberate about him, the lightning that laces out of the sky above. Almost everyone has at some moment wished that the rains would let up, that the sky would clear for just a moment. That the sun which has remained hidden from them for a decade would return if only to assure them that it still yet exists. Hal Vanderbilt has no such wish. He revels in the chaos. For this is HIS world. And he is the King.

When Jarvis and Lisa reached the chief executive operator’s office floor of Vanderbilt’s Tower, they had expected a greeting. A hello, a gunshot, a missile for that matter, but a greeting nonetheless. They received none.

The polished ebon doors slid soundlessly into the walls to open the portal before the two heroes and their cadre of armed Canadian freedom fighters, each garbed in red and black battle-gear, brandishing arm length laser rifles.

“For some bizarre reason,” Jarvis whispered nervously, waving his hand into the air to create a psychokinetic ball of light to illuminate the room, “this isn’t what I had expected.”

He cast the ball forward, it’s eerie and unnatural light filtering into every crevice of Vanderbilt’s massive office, gleaming off of the display cases and causing the surfaces of his paintings and tapestries to shimmer as if they were lit afire from within.

Lisa stepped tentatively forward, and Jarvis followed. She stared open-mouthed in amazement at the room about her. There were wonders contained in Vanderbilt’s tower which few, if any, had ever seen, she had known that. But to see the works of Da Vinci, De Sautola, and Picasso lining the walls, the sculptures of Phidias and Buonarotti atop massive marble pedestals, the imposing statue of the Pharoah Khafre seated before her…it was as if time had sought shelter in this one place. As if only one man had been deemed worthy to become its watcher.

Jarvis tugged on her arm, and she was distracted. “We have a job, to do Lis. Vanderbilt is here…somewhere. We need to get down to the bottom of this.” Jarvis extinguished his mental fireball, and the room was plunged into darkness once more. “We better handle this stealthfully. I’ve told the troops to hang back. It’s all up to us.”

Lisa nodded. She turned her gaze back to the wonders before her one final time. Straining for many seconds, she found that her eyes simply couldn’t adjust quickly enough. She was, for all intents and purposes, blind. She followed Jarvis’ silhouette across the room, attempting to steal once last glance at her surroundings. She kicked a pencil which lay on the ground by accident, and it wrapped across the tiles. Lisa thought rather uncomfortably that it sound more like a skull rolling across the floor of a tomb than a pencil. By the time they had crossed the room, and Lisa could finally discern her surroundings, the distraction was far too great for her to care... Lisa wondered, when had the room acquired such a rank odour?

Hal Vanderbilt inhaled a deep breath of moist air, filling his lungs. It was supposed to be a relaxing breath, an intake of the air of a world he created. HIS world. But its taste was horrid. It was stifling, dry and rancid. Vanderbilt was caught off guard, and coughed into his cupped hand. He shook his head in confusion and frowned.

Jarvis and Lisa stepped out on to the parapet, careful of their footing on the slick surface. They could see Vanderbilt on the other side of the sheet of rain that waged war on the two, leaning against a railing. Stealthily, they crossed the narrow expanse, Jarvis telekinetically shielding their faces from nature’s wrath. Lisa was oblivious to the strength with which the weather assaulted them, but Jarvis could swear that with every step they took, it grew that much more powerful. By the time they were an arm’s reach away from Vanderbilt, he was deathly afraid that it would knock him from his feet and to a horrible death were his shield to falter for just one second.

Vanderbilt stood tall, clasping his hand behind his back. He didn’t bother to turn around, rather, he continued to stare across the cityscape. “Welcome to my palace, Jarvis, Lisa. I hope you like what you see.”

Lisa was taken aback with surprise. So much for stealth, she supposed.

Jarvis breathed in deeply and puffed his chest. “We want answers, V.”

Vanderbilt laughed. “You’ve come to the right person then, butler.” Vanderbilt pivoted about slowly, the cape of his cloak unfurling, dashing water across the surface of the parapet. “But I get the idea you already have them, hmm?”

“But why?” Lisa inserted. “We’ve always believed you were a benevolent force, that the PCE was a corporation striving for a better world for all of us!”

Vanderbilt grinned. “Oh, but I am. We just have a different ideal, Lisa.” Vanderbilt waved his arm over the balcony edge, gesturing towards the ghostly apparition of the city below. “This is my dream, my paradise. The Parodyverse you knew of has transmogrified into my Kingdom. It’s beautiful.”

Jarvis stepped forward in anger, his fist clenched before him and gritting his teeth. “You bastard! Do you realize how many people had to die to create your ‘perfect’ world? Do you?! Maybe it’s all well and good up in your ‘aerie of the gods’, but people are miserable down on planet Earth! Have you ever thought of that you narcissistic asshole?!”

Vanderbilt didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t smile. His brow tightened in anger and he pursed his lips.

But no response was forthcoming.

A bolt of plasma shrieked through the air in a fraction of a second and hit one of Vanderbilt’s nemeses from behind. Jarvis let out a dreadful scream and collapsed on the ground. Lisa spun about to cradle his fallen body, and turned to face his attacker.

The Departed grinned openly in satisfaction and casually hefted his mighty laser rifle on to his shoulder. It did not go unnoticed that it was of the same issue as a member of the Canadian Rebellion. “So…is this a private party, or can anyone join in the fun?”

Lisa put her ear to Jarvis’ chest. His breathing was strong, the blast only stunned him. But he wouldn’t be mobile for a few more minutes at the least.

Vanderbilt scowled. “Not very sporting, Departed. Their cause was already lost, but there is a spirit of defiance in these two which I admire. What fun will crushing it be now, when the realize that NONE can defeat me?”

The words were fresh out of Vanderbilt’s mouth when a blue ball of fire ripped through the fabric of reality itself right where the Departed stood. The man who was once Evil spiffy shrieked in pain and attempted to escape the inferno which had claimed him. He hurled himself right off of the escarpment. Vanderbilt watched him fall. He wondered which would come first, burning to death or hitting the street 200 floors down.

Lisa helped Jarvis slowly ascend to his feet once more. Vanderbilt watched the globe of fire coalesce into a form, a massive creature of solid flame. It wore body armor that appeared to be formed of light and wielded a spear of pure darkness. It stood easily at 20 feet. Each of the three recognized its face. It was The Man Who Wasn’t There. Or at least it once was.

The Creature leaned forward, and stared at the trio individually. His massive eyes held when he captured Vanderbilt dead in his sites. Vanderbilt had never seen anything more terrifying. He had never seen a foe whom he could already tell he would not survive in a battle. He had never feared for his life this much before.

As quickly as its head descended, it swept upwards once more. The Creature spread to its full height. Vanderbilt could swear that it was at least 10 feet taller now. It opened its mouth to speak. “Humans,” it boomed. The balcony rumbled as the base voice echoed off its face. “By order of Those Who Sit Above In Shadow, your kind has been deemed UNWORTHY to lay claim to this planet. It is my charge to dispose of your race, beginning with those who would stand the greatest chance of stopping me. Prepare to die.”

Jarvis assured Lisa he was strong enough to stand alone. “He has a way with words, doesn’t he…”

Vanderbilt recalled what he himself had said just before the Departed was set aflame. He gave the Creature another look-over, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all.

Jarvis turned to look at Vanderbilt. “Wha? Is he laughing? Idiot…looks like it’s up to me to finish the job. Just like old times…”

Lisa put her arm on his shoulder. “You mean us, it’s up to US.”

Jarvis replied with a brief smile, and the two Legionnaires did that which they had done so well for so long. They fought for the very survival of mankind.

Lisa attempted to take the beast down with brute force, throwing her physically enhanced shoulder into ankle. If it felt her attack, it didn’t show. Jarvis summoned the Jarvis Cosmic, channeling its vast energies into the maw of the Creature. It was blinded at the very least, neither hero could tell, but Lisa used the opportunity to scale his massive armored form. She climbed to the base of his neck and pounded away viciously at his skull. Jarvis saw an opening, what was very well his best and only chance. And he would take full advantage.

He took to the air, arcing out of the beast’s reach and waiting for Lisa to give him the chance he needed…to pry open is jaw so that he could unleash the full fury of his power down its throat. He only needed an opening…

Vanderbilt did not move. He watched the battle unfold before him. He did not honestly think Jarvis and Lisa could win. For that matter, he doubted that he himself could. He glanced once more towards his city below, but the storm was so enraged that even that had disappeared from sight. And so he closed his eyes. He strained himself as much as possible to hear, to put aside the rain, the blasts, the screaming behind and about him…but he could hear nothing. It was as if all he had built…was dead…

Jarvis saw his opening and unleashed the blast. It was unfortunate that the Creature had seen his plan all along, at ducked quickly, flinging Lisa directly into its path. Jarvis cried in warning, but it was for naught. She could not escape.

The bolt of energy launched her backward and through the plate glass window which fronted Vanderbilt’s office. Her momentum had been stopped by one of his artifacts…she felt the impact…but what it was she did not know.

She couldn’t feel any rubble beneath her…she couldn’t feel much of anything. She tried to open her eyes to gauge her surroundings, but blood flooded in when she opened her eyelids. Lisa thought of moving, of rejoining Jarvis and the battle, but try as she might her limbs refused to move. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to move anymore, the blackness was comforting…it was inviting. Lisa felt comforted…and her thoughts and cares slowly bled away.

She thought briefly of Jarvis and Vanderbilt once more…of the Creature…and of Vanderbilt’s room of wonders. It’s scent was welcoming once more…refreshed. Lisa smiled with contentment…and her heart stopped…

“Lisa! No!!!” Jarvis flew with frenzy after her. He was careless. But he didn’t care. Lisa was hurt, maybe even dead, and it was all his fault. His fault! He had to make sure she was all right.

Time was of the essence. Cut down on wind resistance, and you can fly all the faster, he had thought. And so he neglected to throw up a telekinetic shield.

It was the opening the Creature needed. It breathed a shower of liquid blue flame in the direction of the distraught hero. Jarvis didn’t see it until it was already too late. Racked with pain, he crashed to the floor upon which Lisa had been flung. His skin burning from his body, his bones turning to ash, his mind driven insane with agony, he reached with what little strength he possessed out towards Lisa…If only to be assured that she was all right…

He would never gain that assurance.

The Creature who was once The Man Who Wasn’t There was proud with itself. It’s first objective had already been achieved. The heroes, the only decent opposition he would face, had already fallen. The plague of humanity would soon be cleansed-

“You didn’t forget about me, did you?!”

The Creature turned in time merely fast enough to see Vanderbilt’s billowing cloak soaring towards him. The bolts of lightning which lanced from his fingertips struck the Creature in the eyes, burning away at his retinas, blinding it.

Vanderbilt landed at the base of its skull and plunged his hands the base of it’s neck, turning them to solid steel. Flailing its body back and forth, the beast could not dislodge him.

Vanderbilt began to channel more of the lightning into the Creature. It screamed in pain, and began to hurl itself into the side of Vanderbilt Towers. Whether in rage, in anguish, or in anger, Vanderbilt did not know.

Vanderbilt was conscious of his waning strength he could already see its effect on his body. He was perspiring profusely, his muscles burned with the fire of exhaustion. He could feel his heart racing, but with each of the beats, he was sure that just a little less blood was circulating. He began to cough, his lungs be denied the oxygen he so badly needed to survive. His grip was also failing. He concentrated as best he could…if any one faculty of his body could not fail him…

But Vanderbilt knew that failure was inevitable. The signs were all there… He hands grew old and frail, his hair began to turn white, and a lengthy, snowy beard began to grow from his chin. He had been nearly 40 when he entered this battle. He was reasonably sure that his was twice that age now.

The beast crushed through the wall of the tower, sending steel siding and glass all about. But Vanderbilt held fast.

His time was running short…he needed a new plan. He looked once more to his frail, metallic hands. That was it! He had transformed his hands to metal…why not do the same for the beast? Entrap it in a form of steel forever… Vanderbilt reached deep within himself to draw out the power necessary and steeled himself for one final assault on the Creature.

He could feel his life force drain from him as he convulsed with the effort. The Creature began to slow it’s movements, but it fought furiously, rolling over, slamming its body into walls, whatever was necessary to kill the being which threatened to do the impossible. Kill it.

Vanderbilt began to lose consciousness. He could hardly believe he was alive as it was. Though he had already gone blind, he pressed on, waiting until the Creature stopped moving altogether. Or until he could give no more…

Hal Vanderbilt fell softly to the water soaked facing of the parapet. He wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten there.

He thought to ask if the monster still lived, but quickly remembered that no one was alive to answer the question. He chuckled. If he had won, no one would be alive to tell him otherwise, anyway…

Hal struggled to muster any measure of strength with which to pull himself to his feet. Struggled, and ultimately failed.

Hal had expended too much of his energy. He knew he was dying…

Hal Vanderbilt let his muscles go lax, and fell limp on the ground. His mind began to grow blurred, less focused. He struggled to remain awake. But he had won. That was all that mattered in the end.

And as the man who would be hero slowly fell into a final, deep sleep, he could swear that the rain around him began to dissipate…began to slow, even stop.

Rain…

He couldn’t recall when, but it seemed…it had not always been raining…

THE END

Follow Ups:

• Nats If I find the time to read it, I will. But that's.....long. 08:51:46 7/04/2001 (1)
  • Finny Read it! It's all good. Except for my chapter. : ) 09:01:22 7/04/2001 (0)
• HH This is deserving of going on an archive site somewhere, don't you think? 07:16:56 7/04/2001 (0)
• Visionary My chapter is pretty depressing without the prologue and epilogue... but considering the context, I guess that was the point. 21:26:45 7/03/2001 (1)
  • spiffy Want to repost those? I don't seem to have them. 21:29:29 7/03/2001 (0)
• Messenger True classic. Recommended reading for all ya newbies who missed it (Newbies, as in the last two years :) 21:01:11 7/03/2001 (1)
  • Goldeneyed I think I might have barely missed this..... I don't want to be a "newbie". 23:05:25 7/03/2001 (0)

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