[center][img] https://i.imgur.com/2cVYNXa.png [/img][/center] [h3][sub][u]January 7, 1929[/u] - Lost Haven, [b]MAINE[/b][/sub][/h3] [h1][i][color=teal]“We passed upon the stair, We spoke of was and when,”[/color][/i][/h1] A gangly youth scrambles across rocks on his day off, his breath visibly hanging in the cold Maine winter morn. Alan Coghlan had a great new job after interning as copyboy for the local newspaper for the past 3 summers... And he didn’t even have to leave the Haven to work it! Just under $10 a day and he’d be doing mostly the same thing! Wowsers! Some big shot called Walter Midas had bought the rights to the Gardiner Journal over in Kennebec and was moving it to Lost Haven with the express intent of making a new state-wide paper called the Maine Journal, he wanted hard working experienced young talent and Alan Coughlan fit the bill! Heck, he might even be able to ask Mindy if she wants to go to the pictures! Before the first paycheck, but he’d be able to afford it. He’d planned to take her to see one of the new talkies he’d heard were coming this year. He’d seen The Jazz Singer, a bit gimmicky but still, what a world we live in! Sandy said Mindy prefers the comedy laff-fests anyway. Well whatever Mindy wants, Mindy gets! Maybe there’s another Buster Keaton short coming up this weeken-- Hullo! Alan catches a glimpse of something golden, poking out of the snow under a tree. It’s glittery promise coaxing his eye... [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“Although I wasn’t there, He said I was his friend”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [h3][sub][u]January 8, 1948[/u][/sub][/h3] The Aquilifer saw a bright light reflect and flinched away as Ironsides was blasted and sent sailing over his left shoulder, just missing him. Doc Miracle knocked out some more of Flare’s Chronocrew with some good old-fashioned straight rights. If he could just buy the Doc some time to get to the panel, he would be able to jam Tempus Flare’s temporal pillager again, just like they had bested him the first time! Suddenly he heard a woman’s scream. Lady Liberty! The dastardly time pirate had used his personal time device and appeared right behind her. He had a fistful of her hair and was holding a laserblade to her throat. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Zippy, Go!”[/color] called the Aquilifer. Zippy the Maestro of Motion sprinted at a pace most couldn’t imagine. He blindsided Tempus Flare and snatched away Lady Liberty before he could drop even one word of monologue. “Foiled! Damned you!” “Sorry for the quick haircut, Lady! I’m sure a doll like you could make it work for you though!” Zippy said, showing her the vibrating hand that had given her locks a quick trim. Alan began to take to the sky. The Golden Rod making a crackling sphere around him as the Aquilifer floated to the fore with a stern look on his face. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Stealing the works of Mister M. C. Escher here is bad enough Flare, you dastardly blaggard, but to hold one of your future daggers on the likes of Lady Liberty… there’s only one word for you!”[/color] “Yes, Aquilifer? And what word might that be?” [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Scoundrel! And now you’ll get what’s coming to you!”[/color] As he looked into the cold, unfeeling eyes of Tempus Flare he could have sworn he saw his devious grin grow in the corners of his mouth in retrospect. However, even more true with the Time Pirate than any other villainous foe they ever dealt with; “retrospect” would mean little to nothing. A wasted moment could be an eternity. The Aquilifer threw a charged blast and there was suddenly a blinding light. When the dust settled the world would change indelibly. Tempus Flare and his Chronocrew, The Aquilifer, Zippy the Maestro of Motion, The Bold Bowman and Dark Masque were all gone. For a long time, that scene as well as the sounds of Lady Liberty’s sobs echoing throughout the main gallery of New York’s Museum of Modern Art would haunt Doc Miracle in his quietest moments. [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“Which came as a surprise, I spoke into his eyes”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [center][img]https://guyhepner.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Crying-Girl--650x486.png[/img][/center] [h3][sub][u]January 12, 1967[/u][/sub][/h3] “And as we walk through this hallway, we see the works of Roy Lichtenstein, one of the more exciting new artists of the past decade. As we move deeper into the realm of Pop Art that the likes of Andy Warhol and Jaspar Johns have so graciously introduced us to, Roy Lichtenstein has an interesting comment to make upon this exciting new development in the art world. Mr Lichtenstein believes that pop art need not necessarily be [b]AMERICAN[/b] art, but is actually merely [b]INDUSTRIAL[/b] art--” A tour guide stated, walking faster than a comfortable pace and with a heavy lisp. “--as you can [b]PROBABLY[/b] tell, Roy Lichtenstein has been heavily influenced by a basic comic strip style. Notice the use of dots in colouring, similar to common pulp comic book fare. We have been blessed to have Roy Lichtenstein grace us with quite a significant collection of his recent works. Particularly his pièce de résistance, the centrally framed “Crying Girl”. Now over--” A flash of light and a significant rip can be heard. Four heroes stand triumphant and returned. A bound and gagged Tempus Flare at their feet. And a torn up framed duplicate print of “Crying Girl” in pieces floating through the air which was previously unoccupied. The tour guide has dropped to her knees, weeping uncontrollably over the destroyed art piece. [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“I thought you died alone, A long long time ago”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [h3][sub][u]January 7, 1929[/u][/sub][/h3] The young Alan Coghlan walks over to inspect the shiny object beneath the tree. It appears to be a metal bar of some kind. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Wowsers! Is that-- Is that a gold bar?!”[/color] A fantastic new job AND he finds a gold bar? The universe must be smiling on ol’ Alan Coghlan! He reaches down to pick it up, and as he does, he’s taken a million lightyears away. [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“I laughed and shook his hand, And made my way back home”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [h3][sub][u]December 24, 1968[/u][/sub][/h3] It had been nearly two years now, and they’d felt like twenty ever since they’d got back. The Bold Bowman had quit, and you could see Zippy was close to coming to the same conclusion. Too much had changed about the world. They returned to a place they barely recognized. Dark Masque went underground after his return, which was perhaps the least surprising thing about any of this. He was looking to crack a cypher for a string of murders he would rant about as the “Zodiac case”. His isolation was unsurprising of course, because even in their heyday in the Roarin’ Fourties Dark Masque seemed less to have pals or teammates so much as he had resources. Zippy got beaten badly after rescuing the Georgian Governor from a fire. Little did he know that such an act could be seen as a political statement. He thought he was just helping a person. He’d made little attempt to re-acclimatise himself to the new world he found himself in – having only ever wanted to help people. The Aquilifer on the other hand, worked hard to understand this new world he found himself in, and dove back into his work – almost driving a crusade against crime and towards working to get the world to look upon itself and strive for more. A push for humanity to bring the best out of itself. It was the night before Christmas and still he was working, even in the harsh Maine winter. Tonight Apollo 8 would enter into orbit around the moon, not for the least reason being some of the new technologies Alan Coghlan had brought into the world after his mysterious sabbatical. Frank Borman, Jim Lovell and William A. Anders would become the first people to see the dark side of the moon. He also has them on schedule to hit John F. Kennedy’s deadline of within the decade of the 60’s to get a man on the moon. If they can keep schedule, mid next year in fact. He feels a slight pang at the fact that JFK would never live to see that optimistic, high-minded goal ever get achieved. But more than anyone he understands that such high-minded goals are to bring hope and faith in the ability of human endeavour and collaborative effort towards lofty goals. From the streets below he sees a man out of place. On the night before Christmas this was supposed to be just a quick patrol. Most people would be in their cosy home, or with family somewhere. Even the homeless community were off the streets for the most part as shelters tended to receive extra help over Christmas. The Golden Rod glowed in his hand, he watched as the man below picked up a garbage bin and hurled it through a pawn shop’s front. [color=DarkGoldenRod][I]“On Christmas..?”[/I][/color] The man ran inside and sprinted out seconds later with his pockets filled with jewellery, and carrying out a heavy tv set, straining under the colossal box in both arms. The box stopped, pressed against the force of one of the Aquilifer’s contructs. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Why? Why would you do this? It’s Christmas.”[/color] The Aquilifer asked, perhaps looking old for the very first time since his return. “What’s the point? Our leaders and the Russians are playing chicken with nukes… now the French have the H-bomb. How long’s it gonna be until someone or another’s finger slips on the button? What’s the point of any of this? How can you even care? How?!? HOW!?” The man started to break down crying. The Aquilifer gently lifted the tv set out of his arms and placed it back in the building. He wrapped his arm around the man and consoled him. Sirens now starting their crow-call from the distance. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“It’s ok… Shh… It’s ok.”[/color] “How?! How can you know? How can you think it could possibly be ok?!?” [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Because it has to be… Because I’ve seen worse…”[/color] [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“I searched for form and land, For years and years I roamed”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [h3][sub][u]January 7, 1929[/u][/sub][/h3] Alan Coghlan looked around at sights heretofore unseen by human eyes. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Wooooooowsers. Where am I?”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“You’re exactly where you were one second ago.”[/b][/COLOR] Spoke a prim, concise voice that somehow came from everywhere at once. [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“Or at least your physical form is. Your mind, however-- your mind has been redirected by the conduit of the Golden Rod. That is the means by which you came to be here.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“And where is here?”[/color] Alan spoke into the void. [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“This is the Pocket Dimension of Concordat. Alan Coghlan of Earth, you have a very big decision on this day.”[/b][/color] Alan put his hands in his own pockets and rocked back and forth in amazement at the incredible landscape. Wowsers. This week just gets bigger and better. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Who made this dimension? This is incredible!”[/color] Alan could see all the way to the horizon in every direction. He whistled to himself in appreciation. [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“A good follow up question. The Golden Rod was made by a people called the Arlaaekans. These probes are the culmination of great leaps in Arlaaekan technology and magic. They are designed for first contact, and to enable the finder’s the chance to consider The Great Concord.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“What exactly do I have to consider?”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“The quality of your own life… And the fate of your own world. These two things are in the balance.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Wowsers! You’re kidding me!”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“I assure you that is not the case.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Well, what [b][u]IS[/u][/b] the case?”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“The device you now hold contains the means to great power. With that power you could become a great King. A new Lord over these people. A powerful man to be respected, feared and adored. Whatsoever you choose.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Yeah… but the fate of the world? How does that come into pl—“[/color] Suddenly images flew across the entire landscape. Many years of entire civilizations played out before his eyes in moments, he absorbed generations of alien worlds’ histories almost instantly. [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“I am sorry, Alan Coghlan of Earth. I have been informed The Full Disclosure can be a quite traumatic experience…”[/b][/color] Alan flinched away from the sudden shock of information as it was all unfurled before him, but there was no escape as his mind’s eye took in the full 360° vista. [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“I gazed a gazeless stare We walked a million hills”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [h3][sub][u]January 7, 1929[/u][/sub][/h3] It wasn’t long until Alan was flinching for another reason - abject terror - as the global histories of the worlds which had received Golden Rods began to fall down extremely similar lines. He watched as Hlrzzt of Glorburon Prime accepted the Golden Rod, accumulated incredible wealth and power. Lived a full, rich life as unquestioned King of his people. Died, bequeathed the Golden Rod to his son Jrzzt… Until a massive space armada landed and attacked. Jrzzt amassed the armed forces and squared off with the teal invaders. But they were outmatched. The teal conquorers laid waste to their armies and cut the Glorburon Prime lines back, they were forced into orderly retreat repeatedly until backed against the gates of the mighty palace, King Jrzzt ordered everyone to fight to the last, and in desperation even used the Golden Rod for the odd blast and shield construct himself. But the day was lost. All that was ever Glorburon Prime was gone. Their world’s bountiful natural resources going to the vanquishers as spoils of war. He watched as Q’r of Plinsy accepted the Golden Rod, accumulated incredible wealth and power. Lived a full, rich life as unquestioned Emperor of his people. With forethought for his people he spent hislife working on his world’s defences, pumping impressive funding into technological advancement in this field whilst many of his own people starved. He eventually died, bequeathed the Golden Rod to his son Pr’zar… Until a massive space armada landed and attacked. Pr’zar amassed the armed forces and doomsday weapons and squared off with the teal invaders. But their weaponry and their troops were outmatched. The teal conquorers countered their greatest weapons and laid waste to their armies and cut the Plinsy lines back, eventually they were forced into orderly retreat repeatedly until backed against the gates of the mighty palace, Emperor Pr’zar ordered everyone to fight to the last, and in desperation even used the Golden Rod for the odd blast and shield construct himself. But the day was lost. All that was ever Plinsy was gone. Their world’s bountiful natural resources going to the vanquishers as spoils of war. He watched as Kwander of Jabiru… He watched as Pons of G’farris… He watched as Adelphate of Burr… [h3][color=DarkGoldenRod][b]“AAAAAHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhh!”[/b][/color][/h3] Not every person accepted the Golden Rod… but the results made little difference. He watched as Olfandis of the peaceful land of Mylo Xyloto saw no need for the power and refused the Golden Rod. A few years later the planet was descended upon by the teal blue armada. The conflict was so fast it flashed past young Alan’s eyes in an instant. There was no war, to war suggests opposing forces. There was just the mass genocide of the people of Mylo Xoloto. All resources were taken by the conquorers. Tyune of the warrior Opastathemolon homeworld experienced The Full Discolsure and rejected the Golden Rod for strategic reasons. He now knew great wolves were at the gate. He spoke with warlord Piule and informed them of the impending threat. The Opastathemolon were an honour-driven warlike race, and immediately trusted the honour of Tyune who had never been known as anything but honourable. He awarded Tyune the equivalent rank of a general or colonel within the Opasthathemolon forces and sought his advice, having the experience of The Full Disclosure to scout against the invasion force. It made no difference. They were slaughtered mercilessly and all of value was pillaged. Qazlik of Skrlind… K’ph’ar’sy of J’un’J’nna… Ph’yndris the Ghorgax of Mud… [color=DarkGoldenRod]“The army of teal aliens... these-- these are the Arlaaekans, aren’t they?”[/color] Alan asked, as he watched the Yorthikagi get annihilated. He already knew the answer. [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“Yes.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“You’re responsible for The Full Disclosure. That means you have to tell the truth, yes?”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“Yes.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Has [b]ANYONE ever beaten them?[/b] Has anyone ever stood firm and stopped them?”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“Out of 2,586 worlds which have presently made contact with the Golden Rod, 2,341 have fallen to the Glorious Arlaaekan armada. 213 worlds are presently awaiting the end of the treaty period to conclude after agreeing to the terms of the Great Concord so that conflict with the Glorious Arlaaekan armada can proceed. 31 worlds refused the Great Concord with the Golden Rod and await conflict with the Glorious Arlaaekan armada. And 1 world is presently entangled in conflict with the Glorious Arlaaekan armada.”[/b][/color] Alan quickly did the maths in his head and calculated the answer to his question. Before confirming it. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“So that’s a no…”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“That’s a no.”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Wowsers…”[/color] the young Alan Coghlan trailed off, as he watched more war. More death. More genocide. Refusal seemed to mean certain annihilation for a home world. Acceptance seemed to mean annihilation with complicity. What kind of choice was that? Everything that everyone before him seemed to have tried had resulted in total destruction. Unless he could think of something different… [color=DarkGoldenRod]“What exactly are the terms of this Great Concord, specifically?”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“By accepting the Golden Rod, you or any wielder of the Golden Rod has full use of its powers. The Golden Rod features advanced scouting beacons and sensors. Your species’ lifespan is now being estimated at 54 in understood regional timespan of circuits around this world’s sun…”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Fifty four?!”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“...with 4% likelihood of surviving to age 85 ‘years’. Alan Coghlan has already survived 18 ‘years’ to date. Estimating health of representative. Using algorithm…”[/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“[b]Fifty four?![/b]”[/color] [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“...treaty will last another 87 years. After this time has passed, the treaty will have concluded and warfare may resume.”[/b][/color] These aliens factored in greed and fear of consequences. The treaty expired after the person in question was almost certainly to have died. But what chance did humanity have regardless? He’d seen aliens with more firepower than standard machine guns. Explosions that looked like columns of flame from hell. Explosions where the devastation was marked by billowing clouds like tree foliage or a mushroom where little could remain in their wake. Could this decision ultimately even have any kind of impact on humanity’s chances for survival? [COLOR=AQUAMARINE][b]“Alan Coghlan of Earth… Do you accept these terms?”[/b][/color] Alan looked out upon the vista, having seen the battles of 2,341 different worlds and the abject slaughter that took place in them from ground zero. Winds seemed to sweep through this barren place. [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“I must have died alone, A long, long time ago”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [h3][sub][u]The Present Day[/u][/sub][/h3] Alan Coghlan walked to his kitchen and took down a cup from a cupboard at head-level, filled it with filtered tap water from a tap and downed his day’s worth of pills. He walked over to the living room and turned the television on to the news. He sat down in his own recliner, separate from the sofa. [color=darkgoldenrod][b]DING[/b][/color][color=goldenrod][b]-DONG![/b][/color] Isn’t that always the way? With some effort he got to his feet and, shuffling at first, he made his way to the front door. [color=darkgoldenrod][b]DING[/b][/color][color=goldenrod][b]-DONG![/b][/color] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Alright. I’m coming! I’m coming! Hold on!”[/color] He opened the door and found himself inches away from him. Of course it was him. That man in black. Complete with balaklava in the middle of the brightest part of the day. [b]“Are you going to let me in, or am I going to pick you up by your lapels and carry you inside for this talk, old man?”[/b] Alan sighed and looked both ways down the street. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“I suppose I’d better let you in then…”[/color] Alan Coghlan seemed to age another ten years in that moment, he shuffled back to let the masked Vigilante into his home and the pair went into his lounge room. [b]“Where’s the other? I don’t want any surprises.”[/b] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“He lives out the back. But it’s too early yet. He doesn’t generally wake up until 10.”[/color] [color=gold]“So Grampa, the city has this-- Oh, Hi.”[/color] Isaac raised his eyebrows at the old man with skepticism. [b]“Alright. You can sit down next to your grandfather. He’s got a story to tell us.”[/b] [color=DarkGoldenRod]“No. He doesn’t.”[/color] Alan said stubbornly. His resolve returning. Not like this. The Vigilante’s eyes steeled. He checked the layout of the house. The old geezer seemed willing to talk, just not in front of the kid. The kitchen was isolated from the rest of the house. [b]“Change of plan. Your grandfather could probably do with a cup of tea--”[/b] [color=gold]“He doesn’t drink tea. He drinks coffee.”[/color] The younger man stood his ground and crossed his arms obstinately. Dennis didn't care for how this man had walked into his home and started barking orders, but he also didn't exactly understand the situation. Isaac’s brow furrowed. Even Alan was close to snapping at his grandson in frustration. But gathered himself. [b]“Coffee, then.”[/b] Isaac spat between gritted teeth. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Dennis, please. I’ll be alright.”[/color] Dennis walked out into the kitchen to get to work on coffee, but not without giving the man in black a glare. As soon as his grandson left the old man uttered [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Thank you.”[/color] [b]“Don’t thank me. You have as long as it takes water to boil to tell me why in the Hell I saw an old former hero associating with the known terrorists behind the Pax Metahumana bombings. So you’d better make it good.”[/b] Isaac sat in a red velvet antique chair that gave him the angle on both the kitchen and the old man. He leaned forwards onto his haunches so his face was inches away. He wanted to be close enough to read every tick, every involuntary wrinkle, any possible attempt at deception crossing the old man’s face. [color=DarkGoldenRod]“Well… it all started in the [b]winter of 1929…[/b]”[/color] [hr] [h1][i][color=teal]“Who knows? Not me I never lost control You’re face to face With the man who sold the world”[/color][/i][/h1] [hr] [sub]* Songwriters: David Bowie[/sub] [sup][URL=https://youtu.be/aWtJ3WfcAGM]The Man Who Sold The World[/url] lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, TINTORETTO MUSIC[/sup]