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Post by DocQuantum on Oct 22, 2017 7:10:46 GMT
The whimpering of the plump red-haired woman in the back seat was beginning to get under the Wrath's skin. It was bad enough that he was serving as Neron's lackey once more, but he had been tasked with kidnapping several civilians who were apparently connected with Justice League members in one way or another. Unfortunately, none of those civilians had anything to do with the Batman. His first kidnapping victim was just an overweight military woman with no real value that he could see, and she'd done nothing but whine.
"Please, please just let me go," she moaned, her tears staining the blindfold she wore.
"Shut up," the Wrath replied tonelessly, even as he wondered if Neron would really care if he killed the fat lady now or if he killed her later as per the original plan. It would certainly make his job easier if this was simply a series of assassinations. He doubted anyone except her husband would miss this Etta Candy Huckaby if he just slit her throat and left her body in a ditch on the way to his next victim.
But the Wrath knew he had to fulfill his obligations to Neron if he was ever to resume his goals. Although it rankled him, he was even willing to delay his vengeance on Gordon for at least another year if it meant he would have a free hand. He had a criminal empire to run, and a number of old business associates he would need to visit in order to let the world know that the Wrath truly was back.
"What do you want with me?" the woman demanded yet again. With a sigh, the Wrath stopped the van, then tore off a strip of her uniform and gagged her with it, before continuing to drive to his next destination in the nation's capitol.
With a start, he suddenly braked and came to a screeching halt, causing the woman to start screaming again, her cry muffled by the gag. Sighing angrily, the Wrath jumped out of his van and shouted up into the sky, "Do you mind? I'm running late as it is already."
Hovering several feet above the street just before his van was Super-Menace. "Wrath, we need to talk about Neron. He's been playing us all along."
"What else is new?" the Wrath said with a impatient shrug. When Super-Menace didn't answer immediately, he said, "Just get in the van and tell me on the way. You might as well make yourself useful if you're going to interrupt me while I'm on a job."
"You need to hear this from the horse's mouth," said Super-Menace, and motioned toward another flying figure who came swooping down toward him. "Just listen to him for a second, all right?"
"I'm just here to talk," said Starman, landing on the pavement with his hands up
The Wrath pulled out the biggest, nastiest piece of armament Will Payton had ever seen in his life, cocked the trigger, and said, "So talk. You have thirty seconds."
"All right, I--" began Starman, before frowning. "Uh, do you have someone tied up in your van?"
"Twenty-five seconds."
Will Payton gulped and began explaining himself as quickly as possible. The Stranger had better be right about this, he thought.
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Post by DocQuantum on Oct 22, 2017 10:38:22 GMT
John Constantine, an English mystic who seemed like he'd never let a day go by without being inebriated for at least a couple of decades, had decided to give his erstwhile guests a tour of the Warp Zone.
"Stay away from the Elastic Lads," he warned the Justice Leaguers as they passed a gang of red-haired youths dressed in skintight purple outfits. "Ye're liable to get diseased just by lookin' at 'em." Constantine chuckled, adding, "Though they're not nearly as bad as the Turtle Men. Er, just stay out of Olsen Alley altogether, eh wot? Too many bloody clones. Positively incestuous, they is."
Black Canary stopped suddenly as an arm grabbed her. Turning, she saw a gray-haired man in his sixties or seventies dressed in a rusted-out robotic uniform. "Nice costume, sugar-legs. Why don'tcha ditch the old man and come spend the night with me?" he said with a wink, as if he still possessed the roguish charm he'd once had as a younger man. "My thrusters keep me goin' all night long, y'know."
"Eww," she said, recoiling in disgust. "You're just a dirty old man!"
"You heard the lady," Green Arrow growled, threatening him with a punch. "Back off, pal."
"Hey, beggars can't be choosers," replied the man. "I got a bad ticker, anyway, so tell you what -- I'll just sit back and watch while you do her."
Without another word, Green Arrow lunged for the man to punch him out, only to be stopped by Black Canary. "Ollie, just let it go. He's not worth it."
"Oh, I can make it worth your while, baby," the man shouted as the group hurried away. "Money's no object for the Tin Man!"
"Bloody Angorian sod," muttered Constantine.
"Well, I'm officially disgusted," sighed the Flash. "Is there a reason we're sticking around in this hellhole instead of exploring the rest of the world ourselves?"
"Ah, I wouldn't suggest that," said Constantine, walking arm in arm with Zatanna to steady himself. "The Secret Society blokes would as likely take you out before even you could get three blocks from here, super-speed or no."
"Is that the reason all these people stay here?" asked Black Canary. "Except for you, I haven't seen one person who wasn't wearing a costume of some kind. Even the senior citizens look like retired super-heroes or super-villains."
"Aye, you'd be hard-pressed to find any super-pensioners anywhere else," said the Englishman, nodding politely at a passing couple, one an elderly woman clad in a yellow and green Phantom Lady outfit, and the other a teenage male escort dressed like Plastic Man.
"How did the world get this way, John?" asked Zatanna. "I have a feeling it has something to do with the Legion of Doom, but I can't imagine what."
John Constantine began to laugh before coughing furiously, then said, "You've said a mouthful, luv. The daft Doomers were a bleedin' enterprise for a year or two, but they turned out to be nothin' but a passin' fad until Luthor and the other A-listers took over. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of m'self. It really all began when you Justice League blokes disappeared for nearly a year. Oh, I know you were tracking down that prince of Hell, Neron, but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, you abandoned 'em."
"We were gone for a year?" asked Green Arrow. "Not a chance."
"You're from June, 1988, right?" asked Constantine. The others nodded. "Then, yeah, you're not going to get back home until April, 1989, and by then it's bloody well too late, innit? By goin' to Hell, you've basically condemned the world to a living hell by letting the villains have free reign. You think Neron's going to let you return on the same day you left? Well, you've got another thing coming. It's all a big joke to him -- a joke on all of us."
"So what will -- had happened by the time we got back?" asked the Flash.
"What didn't happen is the real question," said Constantine. "With the JLA blinkered out, all the usual threats -- the super-villain attacks and the alien invasions and the like -- fell on the shoulders of the Titans and the Outsiders, and even the bloody Global Guardians! It was bleedin' amateur hour for ten whole months! By the time you Justice lot got back home, half the super-hero population had been maimed or killed, three cities were nearly destroyed, and every government in the world either collapsed or collaborated with the Secret Society that arose in the chaos. A temporary state of martial law began then that's lasted nearly three bloody decades now!
"And that's not even gettin' into all the deaths," Constantine continued. "Any civilian who'd so much as been seen speakin' to a Justice Leaguer was kidnapped and publicly executed. Oh, the Legion of Doom took credit for it, whether they were fully responsible or not, and that was their undoin'. All of the original members were hunted down and killed, or otherwise marginalized into utter insignificancy. By the time you Justice lot came back, the Legion of Doom had been taken over by Luthor and every major-threat rotter around. And, findin' that everyone you ever knew and loved were kidnapped or killed, Superman and the rest of you took it upon yourselves to take the Legion of Doom down, and hard. You were a law unto yourselves. Caused the bloody collapse of any institutional authority that still existed at all.
"That's when the real pushback began. A new Secret Society of Super-Villains -- now known simply as the Secret Society -- began killing off heroes and villains alike, and makin' it look like the JLA or the Legion of Doom was responsible for every killing. It wasn't as if you Justice Leaguers were above that sort of thing anymore, as Superman made it clear when he took off the Joker's head after that clown destroyed the Daily Planet building, and everyone in it."
John Constantine paused to glance around at the Justice Leaguers' faces, which had grown pale with shock. "You're thinkin' you've heard the worst, haven't you? Well, I've hardly gotten started. It wasn't until most of the League and the Legion were killed off that the Secret Society was discovered to be the real killers, but the worst part was that they weren't workin' without sanction. In fact, they'd been collectively hired by the world's elite representing every major government and corporation in the world to subdue the superhuman threat. The survivin' Justice lot was just plain disgusted at how their own officials and the people they protected turned on all of 'em when the chips were down.
"Superman, findin' himself without kith or kin, simply packed it in and left Earth for New Krypton. Of course, he couldn't have known Kent and Jasma had already been kidnapped and brainwashed into workin' for the government. I hear they're makin' a killing in Metropolis there in the gladiatorial games, which is fine and dandy if you don't mind engagin' in a bit of the ol' ultra-violence. I suppose pulpin' heads on a daily basis has its charms, even for a Superwoman. It's still a damn sight better than workin' in some perverted Warp Zone brothel like the Li'l Lana Club or the Female Furries. Wonder Woman tried to return to Paradise Island, but the Legion of Doom had gotten there first -- the male members had all stepped foot on the sacred ground of that blessed isle, causin' the gods to abandon that place. In order to save themselves, the Amazons -- those that survived the slaughter -- blinkered off to some other dimension to renew their powers, and as likely as not won't ever return to this cursed world. Since she’d already lost her husband, Nubia left to find them. And Batman, he just hunkered down in Gotham and made it into a fortress, doin' his best to keep out all superhumans. Though, truth to tell, it's a bit of a grim place to live, a real gritty no-man's land.
"As for the surviving supers who weren't good enough to be gladiators, they were all herded into this ghetto," explained Constantine. "The Warp Zone. It's a cute phrase, but basically it's a hedonistic free-for-all where anythin' and everythin' is legal, from Tamarani and Rokynian drugs to every kind of prostitution you could name. And it’s become worse year after year with all the illegal immigrants from the other Earths, even worse off than ours, since the barriers came down in 1990. As the old song goes, 'you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.' You won't find anyone sober in the Warp Zone unless they're already off the deep end. Everyone knows this is nothin' more than a slave colony. We're all slaves to our own lusts here. It's only a matter of time before the Secret Society or the new Legion of Doom decides to just do away with all of us in one go, just to avoid the risk of any of us gettin' out and infectin' the Normas and Normans."
"I dunno, Johnny," scoffed Green Arrow. "Your story seems a bit far-fetched, doesn't it? I mean, we've all seen possible futures before, and not once have they turned out to be true."
Constantine shrugged and sighed, "Could be, could be. But I wouldn't suggest introducin' yourselves as the real deal around here. Ye're liable to get yourself lynched in this city if you call yourselves the Justice League. Now, how about buyin' a fellow a drink? There's a Warriors down the block, though if you're a bit peckish, we could stop at the Planet Krypton. They make a mean Rising Sundae."
But before the Justice Leaguers could answer, they began to vanish in a purple haze.
"Oh, bother," muttered Constantine, straightening himself up as he continued walking down the street, carefully stepping around a group of thirty or so six-inch-tall, mutated insect-like Doll Men and Doll Girls having an orgy in a row of potted plants. "Just when I was this close to sliding my hand up those fishnets. Ah, well. Wonder if Felina's workin' tonight? That Alley-Kat is always up for a shag."
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Post by DocQuantum on Oct 22, 2017 10:41:34 GMT
Whew! Finally got the flash-forwards done! Now back to the main bout: The JLA versus Neron!
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Oct 22, 2017 13:24:53 GMT
Very interesting future. I see Shades of Alan Moore's "Twilight of the Gods", "Injustice", "Marshall Law" and other super hero dystopian futures. THe JLA had better make sure they get back where and when they're supposed to be when this is over!
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Post by DocQuantum on Oct 22, 2017 21:54:04 GMT
Very interesting future. I see Shades of Alan Moore's "Twilight of the Gods", "Injustice", "Marshall Law" and other super hero dystopian futures. THe JLA had better make sure they get back where and when they're supposed to be when this is over! Thanks, those were all influences on the last few chapters, including a few others like Kingdom Come. I have a feeling the JLAers might find a way to keep such a scenario from happening!
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Post by DocQuantum on Nov 3, 2017 20:36:12 GMT
I’m going to rename this story when I post the next chapters, as the scope is a bit larger than just the JLA and the Legion of Doom. This really is our take on Underworld Unleashed.
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Post by DocQuantum on Nov 4, 2017 18:13:02 GMT
Chapter 12: The Last Temptation of Superman
You soar high over the city, now glowing with electric light as the last tendrils of daylight slip below the horizon.
Metropolis: She is a beautiful, shining city full of hope and wonder. She inspires all who visit her, and gives succor to those who dwell there. You love her and have sworn to protect her for all your days.
But the day is done, and your daily patrol has come to an end. A purse-snatching in the park thwarted, a car accident prevented, a suicide stopped -- it was a good day to be Superman.
Faster than a speeding bullet, you fly a circuitous route toward the suburbs, where you blend in with the daily commuters on their way home from the late shift, now clad in a polo shirt and khaki slacks, along with a pair of spectacles atop your nose. Being a freelancer has its advantage, not the least of which is the ability to expand your wardrobe. That blue suit and red tie had grown so very old, after all.
You think of your beautiful wife and your darling child as you stride toward the door, opening it with a key. As usual, no one is there to hear you enter.
A quick glance with your x-ray vision reveals that Kristin is in her study, poring over a dusty old tome, while Jasma is asleep in her bed, clutching her teddy bear. You can hear Aunt Gerta watching one of her mystery shows in her room; it's best not to use your x-ray vision to invade her privacy, after all.
Taking off your shoes, you walk into the kitchen where you find a meal awaiting you in the refrigerator. Kristin greets you from the study and asks you to help yourself, which you do. You eat your supper while reading the late edition of the Daily Planet, and take your time at it, even though you could finish your meal and the paper within split seconds. Ma and Pa Kent, after all, taught you table manners.
The meal done, you traipse over to Jasma's room and peek in the door, which was left open a crack. The girl had been having nightmares lately and didn't want the door closed all the way. After making sure she's really asleep, you walk in and kiss her forehead. She stirs a little but does not wake up. Even a half-Kryptonian needs her sleep.
You begin to move to the doorway when something stops you, and you turn back to look upon the little girl sleeping snug in her bed.
Then you reach your hands out and clutch her neck, strangling her so quickly that she cannot wake up in time to cry out. With a panicked look in her eyes, she tries to struggle out of your grasp but cannot. There is another look in her eyes as she begins to fade: that of betrayal.
You leave the room as quietly as you entered, then walk casually into the study. Kristin Wells Kent seems disturbed, somehow, as if sensing something is wrong. Before she can do more than ask what's wrong, you pounce upon her as if to make love, only to pound your fist into her stomach and then her face multiple times. Despite having the adopted powers of a Kryptonian, her woman's strength is no match for your own, and she is dead within seconds.
You turn to see the nanny, Gerta Gim-Ze, her eyes aghast as she trains her heat-vision on you. But she is an old woman, and you quickly dispatch her.
As if to hide your crimes, you set fire to the house with your own heat-vision, and let the flames burn off your civilian clothing. Donning your costume, you fly out of the suburban home and decide to make the rest of Metropolis a graveyard as well.
You begin to laugh as an inferno emits from your eyes, setting the city ablaze and causing skin to bubble and melt before anyone can register what's happening.
***
"NO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-OO-O-O!!!"
Superman awoke in shock, sweating beating down his forehead as he realized he had just woken up from a very dark dream, or perhaps a vision.
"It was -- it was all so real," he muttered. "Like a horror show come to life."
"Let me guess," said the Batman. "Neron caused you to see something you didn't want to see."
"He's done the same to us as well," said Wonder Woman. "In my case, he showed me what I would be if I abandoned the peaceful ways of the Amazons and really let loose. I saw myself standing over the body of a man I'd murdered -- it was Maxwell Lord, strangely enough -- and felt nothing except satisfaction. And he was the first of many, as I even led a group of rogue Amazons to attack Man's World. It was as if I was still under the thrall of Mars, and had finally embraced the ways of the god of war instead of the ways of peace."
"In my case," explained the Batman, "Neron tempted me with a vision in which I was able to accomplish anything I set out to do. My human limitations were virtually nonexistent, since with a bit of planning I was able to take down even the most powerful of foes: Darkseid himself. It was as if I was some kind of Bat-god instead of a Bat-man. I must admit it was very tempting. I've had too many close calls over my career that could have been prevented with the kind of nearly omniscient ability to plan for any occurrence that I had in my vision."
Superman gulped and said, "Neron showed me what I've always feared: that I could lose control at a moment's notice and destroy everything. I-I killed my family, and then my city, and felt nothing except an eerie sense of inevitability, like jumping off a cliff and letting gravity do its work. And once I committed those atrocities, there was no going back, no reversing things. I was irredeemable. He -- he showed me how quickly, how easily I could become the world's worst monster."
"That may still happen," said a fourth voice.
"Neron, you dare?!" shouted Superman, lunging toward their foe in anger. But the apparition merely phased out as he passed through it.
"I do apologize for not speaking with you in person," said Neron, "but I am quite busy at the moment."
"What do you mean, it could still happen?" demanded Wonder Woman.
"Dear Nubia, are you so daft?" chuckled Neron. "Do none of you recall that a perfect duplicate of Superman still exists out there in the world, one who had never been instilled with a strict moral code from the Kents? Super-Menace could snap at any moment, and now no one could stop him if he goes on another one of his rampages. Perhaps he'll start with the Kent home before moving on to Smallville. Of course, you can make this all go away if you merely accept my offer. I dare say Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman would make an even better council than my Unholy Trinity."
"Damn you, Neron!" cried Superman. "Let us go."
"You have but to speak the word, and you'll walk free in the world once more," said Neron. After an expectant pause, he added, "Ah, but I see you're not quite ready. That's just as well. The damned have all the time in the world, don't you know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my other plans."
"What other plans?" asked the Batman. "Don't tell me you're still trying your Legion of Doom experiment after the way we defeated them."
"My Legion still has possibilities," countered Neron. "But no, I wasn't referring to them, strictly speaking. Yes, they are as we speak following my directives, but they aren't the only ones. Why, you didn't think they were the ONLY ones who had accepted my offer, did you?"
As Neron faded out, his laughter echoed throughout the cavern, and the trio could only look at each other and wonder what was really happening out there in the world.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Nov 4, 2017 22:24:29 GMT
changing the title might not be a good idea for people trying to follow this.
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Post by starskyhutch76 on Nov 5, 2017 0:45:57 GMT
Good chapter. Gerta is more than just the nanny, though. Aunt Gerta is family through Kara's mom's side. She pretty much just showed up an said "okay, I'm here for the baby".
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Post by DocQuantum on Nov 5, 2017 23:50:33 GMT
Thanks for the note. I've updated Gerta to Aunt Gerta.
The Superman bit was inspired by Mark Waid's IRREDEEMABLE, while the Wonder Woman bit was inspired by INFINITE CRISIS and AMAZONS ATTACK, while the Batman bit was inspired by the "Bat-god" from Grant Morrison's JLA and basically every Batman interation since the late '90s. My favorite version of Batman happens to be human, and thus prone to human error.
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Post by lawrenceliberty on Nov 6, 2017 20:51:39 GMT
I was reading some early seventies era Batman comics and I liked the fact that he did make mistakes at times.
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Post by DocQuantum on Feb 1, 2018 7:35:01 GMT
Howard Leduc was a rising star on local television news. Despite having humble beginnings as a news reporter turned anchorman on Cleveland's biggest TV station, Howard was already gaining the attention of TV executives interested in grooming him for a national audience. Some people were even calling Howard the next Clark Kent, and predicted that if Morgan Edge didn't pull him up to the big leagues at GBS in Metropolis, he would surely be working for one of the other networks within half a year, tops.
All this interest wasn't because Howard was all that talented or intelligent. No, there was something about Howard's looks that just made people trust him and everything he had to say. He was neither ugly nor particularly handsome, but his non-threatening appearance had assisted him countless times in getting people to open up to him and give him the story he was after.
When asked about his peculiar brand of charisma that had helped him rise so quickly, Howard liked to joke at parties that, in order to succeed, he'd simply sold his soul to the Devil. That would always make people laugh somewhat nervously and move on to another topic. Of course, no one suspected that he could have been revealing the truth in jest.
On this night, Howard was conducting a live interview with world-class figure skater and Olympic gold medalist Ardelia Gibson in his usual affable manner when he stopped in mid-question, stood up from his interviewer's chair, and began taking off his outer clothes in a stiff, awkward manner.
For her part, Ardelia looked around helplessly, thinking at first that some elaborate practical joke was being played on her when she suddenly jumped up from her seat as if yanked by unseen puppet strings and started to take off her dress.
As the cameramen and stage hands watched with an equal mixture of shock and horror, Howard and Ardelia thrust themselves toward each other and began to grope awkwardly upon the floor, tearing off what little clothing they still had on. For the next few minutes, Cleveland audiences were glued to their television sets as they saw something they'd never seen on broadcast television before, let alone the nightly news.
In one fell swoop, the careers of Howard Leduc and Ardelia Gibson were tanked, even as they were making television history. What no one could explain, however, was why it took the network a full ten minutes before they finally managed to stop filming the lurid scene and cut to a commercial. Of course, the infamous incident would quickly be explained away as "technical difficulties," but no one was truly able to understand what happened that evening, let alone Howard or Ardelia.
Only one short, hideous, green-skinned, grinning figure dressed in a brown trenchcoat had the answer. And Sleez wasn't talking.
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Post by DocQuantum on Feb 1, 2018 7:37:18 GMT
Jake the Clown was having a bad day. He dreamed of making a name for himself, of having his name across the marquee in every city. But instead he had to perform magic tricks at another stupid kid's birthday party.
Of course, he'd been getting more work than he'd had in years after signing up with a new agent. He'd been unemployed for over a year by then, and down to his last buck when Mr. Nero offered him a new lease on life. Now he had to turn down as many jobs as he could take, and he just kept becoming more and more popular.
There was just one problem: Jake the Clown hated kids. He hated their grubby little hands that clawed at him, and their shrill voices when he made them laugh. And even worse was when he had to entertain a whole bunch of them at once. At first he'd just started wearing earplugs when he began his act, and then he began having a drink or two beforehand just to get through the day. His nerves were so shot that he'd even started seeing a psychiatrist.
Gulping down half a bottle of Jack Daniels, Jake the Clown got out of his car and staggered toward the house in the suburbs. Already he could hear the screaming of the little ragamuffins running around at some kid's twelfth birthday party. It took all the willpower he had to make himself step to the front door, and he promised himself that this would be the last kid's birthday party he'd ever do, that Nero would get him up on the stage where he belonged, just like he promised.
His agent had been promising him fame for months by now, and each time Jake the Clown came to Mr. Nero, begging him to stop booking those damned kid's birthday parties, Nero just patted him on the back and said, "Just one more birthday party, Jake. Just one more."
It was more than a poor clown could take.
No one could have predicted what happened next.
Jake the Clown was in the middle of his act, pulling a white rabbit out of a hat, when Burt the birthday boy walked up to him and kicked him in the shin. When all the kids started to laugh at him, and not at his jokes, Jake the Clown began to panic, and he shouted, "Stop laughing! STOP LAUGHING!" As the kids started to laugh even more, Jake looked around helplessly, only to find that the moms were starting to laugh at him, too. This was the last straw.
Without being fully aware of what he was doing, Jake the Clown reached into his magic bag and pulled out a crowbar. Raising it above his head, Jake the Clown brought his crowbar down on Burt the birthday boy's head. But as the laughter stopped, the screaming began, and after that the sirens came.
As the police dragged him away, a calm smile passed across Jake the Clown's face, for in the place he'd retreated to in his mind, he was being given a standing ovation at the Orpheum. All through his arraignment, trial, and imprisonment in Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, Jake the Clown never looked happier in his life. He'd gained not only the fame he'd always sought, but also the inner happiness that had long eluded him.
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Post by DocQuantum on Feb 1, 2018 7:38:35 GMT
On his first day back to work since the tragedy, no one could look Gord Reynolds in the eye. This twenty-eight-year-old decorated police officer had risked his life day and day at the Fourteenth Precinct for years, having gained a reputation for bravery and heroism above and beyond the call of duty. But when he and his family had needed them the most, the boys in blue were nowhere to be found.
The tragedy was as ridiculous as it was horrible. A sinkhole had opened up beneath a Los Angeles apartment building early one morning, and Reynolds' entire home fell into it, along with Gord, his wife Karen, and their son Kyle. After pulling himself out of the wreckage, Gord began searching for his wife and son when the sinkhole suddenly grew larger, causing the entire apartment building to collapse into it. Gord was the only survivor. The LAPD and emergency personnel arrived long after it was too late to save anyone. Like the Biblical Job, he had lost everything.
By all outward appearances, Gord seemed to be taking the whole thing well. He was grieving normally, of course, but maintained a typically brave outward demeanor as he arranged the funeral. He even attended the funerals of all his neighbors who had been lost on that tragic day, lending their loved ones all the strength he had left to give.
It seemed, by all accounts, he would pull through this tragedy and become an even stronger man on the other side.
But no one could see what was really going on inside Gord Reynolds.
He had constructed for himself a personal Hell that tormented his mind each and every day since the loss of his family, a Hell in which his dead wife and son called at him from beyond the grave, demanding a reason why he hadn't been able to save him like he'd saved so many others. The only respite he found from his torment was when he attended funerals, and so he began going to every one he could.
This worked at first, but the torment would always return. The spirits of the dead demanded justice from Gord Reynolds, justice that could only come at a terrible price. But just what that price was eluded him, no matter how many times Gord pleaded with the spirits to tell him what they wanted.
Finally, during the kind of torrential downpour rarely seen in sunny Southern California, Gord found himself at the edge of the cordoned-off sinkhole where his family had been destroyed. He was convinced that the spirits wanted him to end his life right then and there. But just before he could take a fatal leap into that deep pit, a hand touched his shoulder. Gord looked up to see a tall, handsome blond figure dressed in a strange outfit smiling down at him.
Without a word, this figure held out something that would change Gord's life forever. It was a crystal, a prism that shone an unearthly red light. And as Gord reached out and took it, the knowledge of what he must do flooded into his mind. It all became clear now what the spirits were demanding of him, and he was ready to do anything by now to bring his family back. He had barely noticed when the strange figure vanished into nothingness.
Gord stopped attending funerals, and instead began seeing a psychiatrist, who could only see the beaming optimism that Gord had for his future, and nothing else. Within weeks he was declared mentally fit to go back on the job.
Despite all his efforts, however, his personal tragedy surrounded him like a cloak, and his fellow officers could hardly think of what to say to a man who had lost more than they could imagine. It was just as well, of course, since they soon wouldn't have to say or do anything ever again.
Few heads turned when Gord pulled out that glowing red crystal at midnight that night, but he quickly became the center of attention when the glow became a growing red aura that grew larger and larger until it filled the room, causing all the other officers to suddenly choke and gasp for air.
As for himself, Gord began floating as if the weight of the world had been lifted, even as his fellow officers' eyes began to pop and bleed. One or two of them tried to shoot at Gord or his crystal, but nothing could move at high speed within the energy field created by the crystal, and the bullets simply dropped to the ground before they'd gone more than a foot.
Gord could sense the spirits exulting in joy as thirty-six boys in blue collapsed into unconsciousness and death. Despite the revulsion some part of him felt at the massacre, Gord also felt sheer joy. This was the sacrifice that the spirits had needed, the very thing that would allow Gord to set things right again, to stop the tragedy from ever occurring. He wasn't sure exactly what would happen now, whether he would be sent back in time like Michael J. Fox to change the past, or whether the crystal would change reality so that nothing bad had ever happened. But whatever was going to happen, Gord was sure it would be glorious, and he would be with his family forever.
Then he felt it. The crystal began to glow even brighter, and brighter, and Gord could hear cheering and laughter as he imagined himself being drawn into a world in which his family was still alive again, even as it shattered into a million shards.
And then he woke up. Opening his eyes in a darkened room, Gord thought his heart might start beating out of his chest as he got up to find his family.
Finding a doorknob in the darkness, Gord opened it and began running down a familiar-looking hallway. Yes, this was his old apartment -- he was back home at last. But why was it so dark? And which floor was he on, anyway?
It took several minutes before Gord could finally locate his own apartment, and with shaking hands he fumbled for his key and unlocked the door. In familiar territory at last, Gord found a flashlight in a nearby closet and turned it on, only to see the sight that had haunted his dreams.
That was when reality hit him. He had gotten his wish after all. He was with his wife and son again, deep underground at the bottom of the sinkhole, and he would be with them forever.
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Post by lawrenceliberty on Feb 3, 2018 19:31:31 GMT
Wow. Sleeze! And I thought it was that Mucus guy from all the TV congestion medicine commericla
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