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To stand within the Pleasure Dome Decreed by Kubla Khan To taste anew the fruits of life The last immortal man To find the sacred river Alph To walk the caves of ice Oh, I will dine on honeydew And drink the milk of Paradise -"Xanadu", Neil Peart January 5, 1947 Smearing his greasy hands across his coat, the bum waited calmly in the alley. Most people didn't even notice him there, even if their eyes crossed directly over him. The unfortunate had always been invisible to the prosperous. He had seen it all through known history. Even here, in the capitol of a country riding high on a great victory throughout the world. The facility he stood behind housed a secret super-soldier program, although none on the street was aware. The man had been on the run for almost 17 years. Fear had been the major part of his life since the events on that Chicago rooftop years past. He fled aimlessly at first, and randomly. Many cities had known his presence in that time, but he was always restless, always felt pulled in some direction or another. He had ended up in Washington DC a month ago, seemingly having chosen that place at random like many another. There had been no repeats of the events in Chicago...until now. He had awakened from his slumber this morning in an alley across town KNOWING. Tears streamed from his eyes as he attempted to fight the urge to go to a particular building. He struggled, but knew in his heart that it was fruitless. There was nothing he could do. His will was not his own. He stood outside the building, staring blankly. He didn't want to be there. He had long ago given up name and identity, hoping to hide from his fate. He knew now he never would. Terror and anger fought a continuing battle in his mind. He would NOT be treated like this! But he would. At the appointed time, he flung his arm out and felt a part of the energy leave his body. It disappeared through the wall, where it stole the life force of a volunteer for the super-soldier program. It appeared as if the experiment had killed the man, so no further investigation occurred. The slovenly man knew he would encounter this man3 again. August 22, 1981 He was tired. So tired. He had slept away decades, not wanting to live, not being able to die. He merely awaited the next time he would be called. He was resigned with apathy. He could do nothing, his life was no longer his own. Nothing mattered. There was only the waiting and the praying for release. Release did not come. He was in Spokane, Washington. He waited on the street, waited for the young bride to walk by. In this case, it was all it took. A mere nod sent the energy flowing invisibly to this woman, infecting the newly created fetus with the energy, mutating the yet-unborn girl4 with a toughness beyond human capability. Just the previous week, he had been called on to send the energy to a random gang member in the streets of New York City. A young boy of 10 had been in danger, affluent and not wise to the streets. He and his older brother had taken the wrong bus, and ended up in a very bad neighborhood. The energy crazed gang-banger had come out of nowhere and leveled his gun at the boy, but his brother had dived in front, taking the fatal wound instead. The desolate immortal had cried in grief along with the lad, knowing that this is what his fate wrapped around. That this was the boy's5 trial by fire that would temper the sword of justice he would later become. The bum wandered into a small glade and lay down. As he closed his eyes, he thought about how they were coming closer together now, how it all must be coming to a head. And then he slept, knowing nothing but the sorrow of awaiting his next call. June 14, 1995 He pulled off his glasses and wiped his brow. It was hot! The school district had had the air conditioning turned off for the summer, with school out for the year. He had just come by to gather his things and move on. He was Paul Jennings now, a substitute English teacher at John Adams Elementary in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. This one had pushed him to more elaborate means to attain his goal. He had spent most of the spring with discussions of heroic tales in literature and in real life. Mr. Jennings had seen how Will Jefferson's6 eyes had shone when the discussion turned to the modern age of heroism, particularly the stories of the heroes in Paragon City. He knew that nothing would stop Will from becoming the thing he desired most...a super-hero. His work here was done. June 30, 2006 He had been in Paragon City for ten years. He knew he would never leave. It was here that his job would complete. He hoped that when he was done, he would be released from this horrible mockery of a life into oblivion. He craved nothing less, and nothing was further from his reach. He had survived the Rikti Wars in hiding, knowing he was protected from such things by the forces that manipulated him. He had attempted to walk into the battle hoping to get caught in the melee, but had been unable to move from his hiding place. He had no control, no volition of his own. He was a shell, with nothing inside. He had become what he had been called, merely a tool for those that used him. He wept often, but it was hollow. He had only recently been compelled to release the energy again. He did not know how these things were affecting some. He was at a loss to understand the release of the energy into that discarded radiation suit behind Crey Laboratories7. He was just as mystified by his action of moments ago. He had wiped the identity of a poor boy that was being experimented on by the vile Circle of Thorns mystics. He hoped he helped the trauma of the boy, but feared it was just another manipulation, as the one he thought of as The First rescued the lad and gave him up to the authorities. The admiration in the boy's eyes gave a clue. He would follow The First. Another soldier in the Kindly Ones' dirty little war. To them, the means were always justified by the ends. What they did was right to them by the very virtue that they had decided to do it. They felt above mortal morals, and did what they did for justice and vengeance. As the boy's8 memory of his previous existence disappeared, the grimy dark-haired, dark-eyed man with the haunted look knew that there was one more. One more pays for all. He had been noticing of late changes in his body. Inside, at the core, there was something...stiffening, growing. Whatever had been done to him was progressing. His forearms and his calves felt particularly stiff. But he had long gone beyond feeling things like heat, cold, comfort, etc. on anything but a subconscious level. He was a somnambulist, walking through his shattered life in zombie-like fashion. He cared for nothing, and nothing cared for him. August 21, 2006 The entire east coast was under siege. The creatures conjured by the time master, Anachronus Caesar slaughtered and destroyed at will. It was this that Future-Man had been sent back in time to combat. It was the final battle, and the Evil Emperor of Time had nearly defeated him. Bleeding from his mouth, ears and nose, Future-Man prepared his final assault. He would call from the past a champion. Atop the tallest skyscraper in Steel Canyon, Anachronus Caesar approached the hero, laughing at his fate. Far below on the street, a vacant eyed homeless man stared straight ahead, although he was seeing the scene far above his head. Future-Man would fail. He had not the energy to draw a fly from the time-stream, let alone a hero. With a sigh, the grubby man waved an arm, releasing the life-force of a man he had absorbed nearly four decades before. The final flailings of energy from Future-Man intended to bring forth the hero were absorbed by this new glowing avatar3 instead, and then redirected into the crazed time traveling conqueror, dispersing his atoms through the time-stream and ending the threat. Future-man died, making the ultimate sacrifice. But the chronal energies did not mix well with energies of the Well. Feedback shot into the exotic wastrel at the base of the building. Lights fired in his brain and eyes... And... his... mind... shattered... into... glittering... shards... |
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Acknowledgments |
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