Ziven of Nine and the Chest Pains of Doom.

I posted this in the Chatty thread, but maybe some of you can get an amused chuckle from spending all last night thinking I was probably dying.

So what happened is as follows.

Tuesday: 5:30 AM.

Woke up on the couch. The Princess needs the bed to herself on worknights between my apnea and the whole get-up-at-5:30-AM thing. Another morning in lower middle class paradise. Except this time... This time, something was... different.

I got up, folded her blanket, slid her laptop table back in front of the couch, headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

All the while feeling dizzy. "No matter", I thought, or something rather like it approximating the mental noise of a cavewoman grunt and the stubborn streak all Ukrainians inherit from their Mongol progenitors.

Ice cold lemonade does wonders for the short journey up the stairs to void my waters in the pre-dawn stillness. Except, the shock of the cold liquid spread a sharp discomfort through my ribs. The thunder of a team of horses echoed through my aorta and into my sinus cavity. I could feel them racing through my pulse, up the neck, into my brain.

They were demonic beasts, with hooves of fire. I summoned the Engine Wind of my trusty stand fan, invoked the rain gods to send me moisture through my vaporizer, and activated the propeller of the vehicle of dreams before pulling the chain on said ceiling fan.

It was dark. I was hot. I hurt.

For the next two hours, I was pushed off a cliff over and over. But the fall started in my chest and impacted a foot above my head. It woke me up every few minutes. My temples had been taken over by minions of the machine god, their hammers and bellows sending pounding burning pain throughout my consciousness.

I could not feel my limbs.

I fought loose of the clinging, sweatsheen soaked wrappings and voided my waters, accompanied with a thunder of my own making. Emulating my idol Red Sonja, I banished the demons in a foul small of rotten eggs and darker things.

I do not remember going back to bed. But I awoke having slept.

I assumed, as is rational, that I perhaps suffered for my supper. an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. Perhaps There was more of gravy than of grave about the vexing spectral tormentors that had lodged within my person, seeking to spread misery and malaise.

Oh, how wrong I would be.

The wet sheen returned as I threw off the covers the following morning to ascend the stairs. The quiet of the grave assured me that whatever unholy force had so infested my fevered sleep seemed gone.

And then Saturday. Oh, Saturday.

I awoke in the mood of one who is to be avoided at all costs. My temper hovered bladelike within my aura, ready to strike any who took its attention. I conquered that beast and restored harmony with my beloved partner through a shared breaking of the fast.

Let us pause for a moment, that it be shown for the ages and all whom come across this chronicle that my heart and soulmate of this past quarter century is unparalleled in the preparation of a Ham, Egg, and Cheese sandwich. Athena weeps in spite of its beauty, and, indeed, as any whom have had the great privilege of glimpsing her magnificent countenance, in spite of hers as well.

The day progressed, and indeed, I felt an illness unspecified gnawing at my heels as I went about my daily endeavours. "Perhaps", I assumed, "the spirits seeking my downfall have been tamed.. and in penance I shall sacrifice many tissues and drink of the elixir of NyQuil this eve."

I went to my slumber before my angelic partner, expecting her shortly after I rested with the promise of consummation of our affection in the quiet still hours when lovers make small soft sighs in the embracing darkness.

I was to be denied the carnal ecstasy of shared mammalian lust however.

Nary half an hour later, the demons returned. They were consumed with vengeance. My vision swam before me, my body akin to ice in the touching, my limbs leaden when they rested from fearsome quaking. I plead aloud to the gods of technology for my noble healer's words. She returned my call forthwith and sent me hence to the nearby temple of Asclepius.

Within, many priests and vestal virgins (virginity assumed, I had no recourse to test) did connect me to arcane machines that beeped and whirred and chittered and hummed in the secret languages that only those who wear the staff of snakes can know.

A great canon of light looked deep into my heart, and found me worthy.

They took my humors, and visited upon me the tender mercies of the hero Prince Valium. He showed me sights and wonders my own frail eyes cannot ever view when I am at my halest and heartiest.

At last, the dawn had come, birds frolicked beyond the mighty chamber in which they had placed me to the concern and fear of my beloved (for it was indeed the room wherein it would be easiest to allow women to put forth children in dire distress, or to perform miracles of bringing the dying to some measure of health) and my valiant knights in white and blue returned.

The Valkyrie informed me she had not chosen me to be numbered among the slain. Valhalla was to be denied me some little while yet.

I was released.. the mystery solved. I was in danger, yea sooth. But not mortal and immediate. Instead, the Demons had sabotaged the mechanism deep within my being that informs my person of the proper response to ambient air.

Home, then, after a victory sup at the tavern and mead hall of Denny. While not so glorious a repast as such my own adored Goodwife blesses us with, the aptly named Moons Over My Hammy was a warrior's feast in its own right.

And thus here I sit, knowing the demons will come. But knowing that my Shaman will soon prepare a poultice to end their siege for once and all.

--Z9 tl;dr: I thought I was having a heart attack or stroke, turns out my thyroid went wild. Valium is interesting, and somehow counteracted my greyblindness and astigmatism to let me see more (real life) colours than I knew existed and in 3D with no help from special lenses.

ATOMICA: Let Freedom Ring (Part 4)

LET FREEDOM RING: PART 4

A pair of figures stood silhouetted against the deepening gloom of nightfall over the blasted crater of the National Mall. Scant yards away, the endless sounds of firefights between slavers and Supermutants for possession of the Lincoln Memorial echoed through the devastation.

Atomica muttered to her suit. “Magnify and enhance.” Her night vision kicked in, showing her that most of the bullets being slung back and forth were not intended to kill, only to suppress. The Slavers knew the Supermutants would act as an a living fence and unwilling watchdogs as they established their base of power. The Supermutants were intelligent enough to not want to damage the structure.

“Its like an armed truce.” Liberator was alternately eating an apple and applying fast-acting fabric dyes to modify his armour's appearance. “Almost done here.”

Atomica smiled. “If I'm estimating right, there's room for several dozen freed slaves to recuperate in the underground part of the memorial.”

Liberator stood, knowing the memorial's own high intensity powered lights rendered him invisible to the slavers and Supermutants alike in the now fully-dark night sky. “You ready to do this thing?”

Atomica paused to admire the change that had come over Hamlin. “You're doing your ancestor proud.”

Liberator pointed to the Memorial. “The Great Emancipator once said that a friend is one who has the same enemies as you have. In this case, however, I think even he would make an exception.”



Atomica nodded, and sized up the situation. “Care for a game of tag?”

Liberator smiled “Lincoln also said, 'If there is anything that a man can do well, I say let him do it.. Give him a chance.” The smile became a grin. “Or in this case, a woman. I hear tell, Miss Atomica, you deal with Supermutants very well.” He leapt off the rooftop, sprinting for the Memorial.

Atomica laughed as she bounded after him. “No head starts!” As the crested the battlements, her canon erupted in azure light, taking the head of a Supermutant Master clean off.

Liberator fired with nearly Superhuman speed, Slavers falling with each action of the lever. “That still only counts as one!”

Atomica detonated several grenade bouquets as Supermutant patrols rushed under then to close distance. Liberator called out above the machine gun fire. “Showoff!”

Liberator reached the center of the Memorial as Atomica dropped down from the roof. They stood reading the plaque on the great statue together. Liberator spoke first. “With malice toward none, with charity for all. Fitting words for a new beginning.” He gazed up at the statue. “That man once said: I like to see a man proud of the place in which he lives. I like to see a man live so that his place will be proud of him.” Nodding solemnly, Liberator removed Lincoln's hat and placed it over his heart. “In your honor, Sir, I will again make this a proud place.”

A shot pierced the solemn silence. Blood erupted from Liberator's scalp as the bullet creased it. Had he not chosen to bow his head, it would have ended up exiting between his eyes. A voice dripping in sarcasm and disdain chuckled. “I believe the line here is “Sic Semper Tyrannus”.

Atomica whirled, finding herself face to face with Leroy Walker. Behind him, a score or more of fresh, heavily armed slavers leveled their weapons at her and the now-unconscious Hannibal Hamlin. Walker sneered. “I remember as a kid, stories of freaks in circus costumes. Mutants, cyborgs, experimental gizmos that never did anyone any good. Anarchy.” He visibly shook with rage. “It was Anarchy, DO YOU HEAR ME?!?! ANARCHY!!!”

Atomica sized up the odds. Her suit informed her that it would not withstand the assembled firepower of the Slaver army from Paradise Falls that had arrived to relieve the small party that had been holding it.

Walker calmed himself, miming pushing down from shoulder height on an invisible surface at chest height. As he squashed his rage, he took three deep breaths in his nose, blowing them out forcefully from his mouth. “Eulogy Jones brought order. Eulogy Jones returned the rule of law.”

He gestured out over the expanse of the Mall. “Democracy did this! When you let the people vote, this is what happens!” He ratcheted back the bolt on his rifle. “Superheroes? Really? Unsanctioned vigilantes spreading disorder? Not on my watch!”

Atomica quietly subvocalized the command to overload her weapon. If she was going to die here, it would be on her terms, striking a blow for freedom.

Walker cleared his throat. “Atomica. By the power invested in me by force of arms and the rule of Order, I sentence you to death. May the Governed heed the lesson of your ignoble end.”

Atomica's weapon chimed once. She moved. Leaping up, kicking off the statue of Abraham Lincoln, she felt the heat blistering her arm as her weapon fired wide spreads of lethal energy. For every Slaver that fell, three more returned fire.

WARNING. SUIT INTEGRITY FAILING.

Rolling into a ball as she landed, Atomica managed to find a moment's cover behind a pillar.

POWER DEPELETED. SHUTTING DOWN.

“Crap.”

The lights failed as the Slavers advanced. Atomica caught the glimpse of a shapely female form on the open skylight area. Framed by the moon, her shadow cast down onto the floor. The slavers changed focus.

Flash. A bright light from high powered ammo leaving its chamber caught an older woman, her face hidden in the shadows of a fedora.

Flash. Flowing trenchcoat, bare midriff.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Each bullet killed a Slaver.

When it was quiet, the mysterious stranger paused. The lights snapped back on. Atomica could see that her face was not obscured; in fact, she seemed to have none. On her chest, a silver lithium atom encircling a stylized roman numeral.



The faceless mask somehow conveyed a smile. A whisper carried on the breeze. “Allison.”

A heartbeat pause. ATOM-1 leapt up to the roof, and vanished into the night.

Groggily, Atomica crawled over to Hamlin. She found a stimpack in his jacket pocket. It did the trick. He sat up, rubbing his head and groaning. Atomica frowned. “This would be a good time to put those things up in a museum and go back to being Hannibal Hamlin. The world is violent enough without painting a target on yourself and asking for trouble.”

Putting his hat back on with grace and regal pride, Liberator stood, albeit a bit unsteadily. “Lets have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.” He reached down to help her up.

Atomica grasped his forearm as she did hers. “Alright then. Lets get this place fixed up. There's a lot of company coming.”

The two heroes began the earnest work of cleaning up the new Home of the Free.

Adventure Comics: Supergirl 2075 Background

"Lois Lane, come stay with me tonight... I... Got a pocket full of..."

Sarah switched off the oldies station with a snort. Granadpa Jimmy didn't bag the brassiest brunette in Metropolis, she mused, but her sister was a different story. Grandma Lucy was a good enough catch, she thought. Another channel faded in.

"Superman never made any money... saving the world from Solomon Grundy...

Again, she pushed the Randomizer button. No, she thought, but Grandpa's best friend sure saved her dad from Doomsday. Clark Wayne Olsen, her dad, had been kidnapped by The Monster Doomsday... Somehow, in her head, and in her nightmares, it was always The Monster Doomsday, never just Doomsday or anything... The radio flared again, randomizing from the satellite radio system according to her known preferences.

"I am, I am, I am Superman... And I can do anything!"

He sure could. He had save her dad right before Brainiac, using the body of The Monster Doomsday, could make him into an even worse monster to live in. And he made sure The Monster Doomsday would never get out again. He was locked in a transporter loop on the moon for ever and ever. Or at least til the Event took them all away. And her daddy wasn't hurt. The music paused, and her car's voice reminded her she was almost at school. The music played again as she stopped at the light before her exit.

" ...doing everything I can ...holding on to what I am ...pretending I'm a Superman"

Sarah blinked and looked down, realizing what she had been hearing. She had been feeling odd all day, sort of jumpy and spacy and lightheaded, but this was definitely worth noticing. She asked the car, "Hey, radio, how many songs about Superman are playing right now?" The car told her in its pleasant voice that out of the 4,632 English language music channels currently broadcasting, 78 percent were playing songs about Superman.

"Whoah. Did I miss an anniversary or something?" In response, the radio switched to WGBS news.


"...man then placed the craft gently on the ground. He then flew away. Again, the Starship Constitution was saved by a flying man..."

Sarah started as the horns behind her blew. She jumped on the gas, and headed off to school.

The day passed quickly, in part because Sarah felt worse and worse as it went on. She had no idea what had been said in most of her classes. Oh well. It was all review at this point, anyway. Her head hurt, and something smelled funny. Kind of cinnamon and spice and fresh baked bread, but none of those.

She wasn't sure she could drive home, so she stopped by the desk and paid an overnight fee for her car. Sarah's eyes hurt, so she put on her sunglasses and headphones to relax until her stop. As soon as she turned it on, she heard Donovan reminding her from long before The Event that Superman and Green Lantern had nothing on him. She laughed. She would have to ask her father what he thought of the news. It had to be a hoax.

Sarah's laughter faded as a scream pierced the funkadelic melodies of an era long gone. Opening her eyes, she saw six men dressed in skull masks pulling guns. Feeling disconnected and woozy, she jumped up. "Hey.. leave them alone!" One of them moved to hit her, and she used her martial arts training to flip him. Big mistake. He fired.

The bullets... she could feel them. Her whole body tingled.. for miles.. and she could feel and hear and see everything for a moment. The bullets had to stop. She told them in a thought to slow down, chill out. They did. One tapped her radio. The train went silent. The music channel changed in her ears.

The swelling strains of John Williams' trubite suite to Superman played in her ears. The other thugs tried to shoot at her too, to equally futile effect. "Please... Can't we settle this..." One of them started to reach for a pregnant woman. Sarah moved through spacetime, leaving a humming "Whooosh!" and blurry afterimages in her wake.

"I did try to ask nicely." She dropped the man with a nerve strike, then turned and wiped up the others equally quickly.

The applause started slowly. People were using their phones and radios and Palmtops to take what would later prove to be grainy, somewhat distorted photos. Sarah had defused the situation in a lot less time than the overworked and understaffed transit police could have. The door opened as she smiled at the people she had saved. The old, overweight transit cop barely had time to blink as he stared at the thugs and at Sarah. I saw the whole thing on the monitor... What.. Who are you?"

The train stopped and the door opened. Realizing the dim train lighting and her glasses would prevent her from being identified, she smiled as she stepped to the door. Feeling the space around her, she rose into the air. With the ending strains of the Williams suite playing in her ears, she paused long enough to answer.

"Supergirl."

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #3 (Part 2)

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX COUNTY VAMPIRES (Part 2)

One of these days, I might just figure out when Cherry managed to get to know all these folks who owed her a favour. This latest one was a ghoul drug dealer who called himself Murphy. I spent some smalltalk time with his boyfriend Barrett. Cherry and Murphy quickly got into chemical jargon way above my programming grade.

A couple hands of cards later, and Barrett and I parted company on good terms. I came out ahead of the deal by 4 caps, but there were no hard feelings. We made our way through the back room and down into the smelliest mirelurk-infested sewer I'd been in since.. well, since Rivet City. Cherry had taught me a thing or two about Lurks that even I hadn't already known. Not a one of them gave us any trouble.

We came up in a grim, dreary ruin of soulless, bleak urban blight. The 200 years since the war had done little to improve that description of the DC Metro system. Cherry pointed out mines and tripwires faster than my scanner could pick them up.

We eventually found the gate, and bribed the guard to let us in. He was cheap and disinterested. This made me even more nervous. People with guards put the muscle out front. People with doormen don't need guards. I checked the charge on my piece for reassurance.

They had a town down in the station. Looked like any other place you'll find pockets of plucky humanity surviving til they can take it back. Everyone was friendly, willing to trade, and had heard of us.

Their leader, Vance, was a piece of work. He looked like a movie poster from centuries ago, some film called Dusk or something. Leather jacket, hair like a British lycanthrope, and piercing eyes. Something was off about him. Cherry walked right up to him and crossed her arms. “Arefu.”

Vance smiled, and gave her a long steady once over. “Nice Hat. Cherry Heart, I presume.”

“Guilty. Which begs the question.”

Vance shook his head. “I give you my word, The Family is not responsible for the deaths of the Wests.” Cherry stared at him for a good long minute, Vance returned her gaze with infinite patience. At last she nodded. “So what did happen?”

Vance motioned her to the back door. “Ask Ian West.”

The interview was brief, and left Cherry visibly disturbed. So much so, she took off her hat midway. Ian was a bit unsettled by the change from gumshoe to Great Detective, which lead him to open up all the way.

In the end, she let him choose. He wrote a letter to take back to Lucy.

Cherlynn Hearth met with Vance, who effortlessly adapted to her change of persona, as if she had never acted differently.

“Well, Detective, what now? How will you resolve your great case?”

Hearth cupped her chin in her hand, resting her arm on her hand, hugged against her. She observed Vance, who had been joined by his wife Holly. After some moments of study, she spoke. “Ian thinks he is a Cannibal.. but you and I know better.”

Vance smiled. “Well done, detective, well done. We eat not the flesh, and live by the code of the myths we resemble.”

Hearth shook her head. “You and I...” she paused for emphasis, a sharper tone coming to her voice. “know better.”

Vance's expression changed to concern. “We're not ready to go public.”

Hearth nodded. “No, not quite yet. But you are ready to rejoin the world.”

Vance raised an eyebrow. “What do you propose?”

Hearth laid out a deal then, one that the folk of Arefu gladly accepted. The Reconciliation lead two groups, those who merely carried the hemoglophagia virus, and those who had manifested it. In return for blood packs, the Family provided protection. A wounded community began to heal, and perhaps a new subspecies of man had begun to take blossom.

I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter which Hearth wrote in final answer to that with which the narrative begins. It ran thus:

Baker Street,
October 31st.

Re: Vampires

Sirs:
Referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I have looked into the inquiry of your client, Ms. Lucy West, late of Arefu, and that the matter has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for your recommendation, I am, sirs,

Faithfully yours,
Cherlynn Hearth.

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #3 (Part 1)

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX COUNTY VAMPIRES (Part 1)

Cherylnn Hearth stood on the balcony of our shared quarters in 221 B Baker Street, overlooking the central crater of Megaton. She read repeatedly and with care a note that had been delivered by the disreputable handyman Jericho.

“Something is afoot, Watson.”

I again grimaced slightly at her double pun on the name she chose to address me by. Son of Watt indeed. Hmph. Still, I looked up from maintaining my trusty custom bore plasma rifle, interest trumping annoyance. “Whatcha got there, then?”.

“Recently, strange reports from a settlement some small distance away have filtered in through my network of informants.” She spoke of course of the Baker Street Irregulars, of whom I shall make mention of in a future record. “And now, this.”

Handing me the note, I was surprised that the author had not approached her in person. Lucy West was a familiar sight in and about the town.

Moriarty's, Megaton
October 29, 2778

Ms. Hearth:

Our client, Ms. Lucy West, formerly of Arefu, has made some inquiry of us in a communication of even date concerning strange events surrounding her family in the same locale. As our firm specializes entirely upon the procurement and repair of weaponry the matter hardly comes within our perview, and we have therefore recommended we contact you on her behalf and entreat you to look into the matter. We have not fogotten your successful action in the case of Doctor Peterson.

Faithfully Yours,
Flak and Shrapnel
Rivet City

I remarked that it was indeed most peculiar. “Doctor Peterson?” I inquired.

“A man long dead.”, said Hearth in a reminiscent voice. “One who was responsible for what I shall only refer to as my encounter with the Giant Molerat of Vault 108, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.” Hearth's eyes sparkled with the scent of adventure. “But, come, Watson! The Game's Afoot!” We set out for Arefu post haste.

- - - - -

The journey to the small, almost nonexistent settlement was uneventful, marred only by the usual raider scum who had long since learned to flee in the path of the Great Detective and her sidearm when they lacked numbers.

Arefu was so named by the ravages of time and the war. A ramshackle cluster of decaying buildings erected on the lone standing pylon of the ancient freeway system, the once-bold and vibrant sign declaring that one pass lanes carefully had shed its C and adverbial suffix.

“Do not flinch, Watson.” Hearth warned as we climbed the mist-shrouded on-ramp. “From what?” I asked moments before an explosion startled me. To my credit, I heeded and did not flinch. Hearth smirked. “This place is guarded.” She then shouted and waved. “AHOY! We mean you no harm!”

A grizzled elder of the settlement lowered his shotgun. “Sorry strangers. I thought you were The Family come to wreak more havoc! Best come on up before they catch you out!”

Hearth inquired quizzically of the man, who was named Evan King. “The Family? A raider gang, perhaps?” King shook his head, informing her of the strange gang of post-apocalyptic goths that had of late plagued their livestock “Left 'em drained of blood! Like them Alien Mutilations up north!” Hearth agreed to check on the settlement while King kept watch.

Most of the residents were reticent, some deluded, and others merely afraid. The presence of the Great Detective gave them some small hope, her fame having spread even here. I noted some of the very holotapes of her previous adventures that I had recorded amidst their meager entertainments. My brief flush of pride was cut short by Hearth's dismissal of her achievements in a faux modesty that I knew caused her even more of a swollen head.

Her elation at being lauded quickly turned to gave seriousness when we came upon the West residence. Within, the peculiar smell of rot overpowered the senses. The grim sight of two bodies lay in their final tortured repose. Hearth quickly noted that they had been disturbed, discovered they had been drained completely of blood by two puncture marks at the neck.. She did not need to point out the the graffiti that announced this to be the work of The Family, complete with familiar gothic symbology and font. “Hearth, surely you do not think?”.

She laughed brightly. “I surely do think! Constantly! I can scarce help it!” She suddenly grew thoughtful and pressed the memo button on her Pip-Boy. “Note to self: Based on dilated pupils, ruptured vessels in the nose, and yet his steady hand under its influence, the fee for this case will be payable in stock from Evan King's Still.”

I rolled my eyes. “But seriously, Hearth? Vampires?”

She smiled thinly. “In a world of radioactive ogres, atomic zombies, and post-apocalyptic Grendel's Mothers, some things perhaps must still remain impossible. However, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Hearth tuned her Pip-Boy to magnification and spectral analysis, focusing on a single partial bootprint in the gloom. “What do you make of this, Watson?”

My android nature allows me some advantages, now that I know what I am. I switched my optics through multiple settings. “Mud, Hearth.”

She smiled indulgently. “Notice anything?”

I scanned deeper. It appeared to be, in fact, mud. Still moist. “Recent.”

“Very good! But see here.. “ She showed me the spectrographic analysis. “Traces of perfluoropolyether oil. Most commonly found on railway axels.”

I nodded. “And there's a trainyard not too far from here.”

Hearth checked the ammo load on her weapon. “Come then, Watson.” She spun the barrel and snapped it home. With her other hand, Cherry Heart rolled her shady hat onto her forehead. “Lets go eliminate the impossible.”

Adventure Comics: Superwoman Background

Family tradition can be a powerful force. Few people find it quite so powerful as Kristin Wells. Kristin, like all her line, had grown up in the comforting shade of the House of El. From their earliest beginnings, they had been friends, confidants, and occasionally sidekicks and companions to the Super-People. Kristin discovered to her delight that she had inherited her family's greatest gift during her fourteenth birthday party. Back in the time of the original Superman, Pete Ross and Lana Lang's infant son Clark had been kidnapped by Brainiac in Doomsday's body and subjected to the beginnings of a procedure to replicate a mindless Doomsday for his consciousness to inhabit. Superman managed to defeat Doomsday and rescue Clark with no ill effects. Or so it seemed.

What Superman did not realize was that the acclimatization process had not worn off completely, and small subspacial resonances occurred in Clark Ross's genes as Doomsday endlessly teleported between the four linked transport tubes on the Lunar Surface. These changes did nothing directly to him, and he grew to lead a normal life. He fell in love with Sarah Olsen (The daughter of James Bartholomew Olsen, Jr. and Lucy Lane, named after Olsen's mother), got married, and settled down. Kristin, a hundred centuries later, had inherited that metagene. When her "Aunt" Laurel Kent, a good long-time friend of the family, took her to see the Legion of Superheroes at the Worlds Fair in Metropolis for her Birthday weekend, the inevitable happened.

The All-Worlds Dome was taken over by the escaped consciousness of the Cyborg Superman. Converting it to a giant robot, he knocked the young Legion about with disdainful ease. Laurel hurried Kristin toward the exit, and told her to run. When Kristin turned to grab her aunt's hand, she saw Laurel running back. Following her, she watched Laurel disappear behind a display and Superwoman come out the other side. Stunned, Kristin failed to notice the Bad Thing about to happen. Several super-powers intersected, causing a freak explosion. Kristin felt a surge through her body, and leapt desperately to avoid the blast. She found herself airborne, moving away in an arc. Landing against a storage shed, a huge robotic foot nearly crushed her. Desperately pushing at the door, she tore it like paper. Inside was the Display Warehouse. Outside, Superwoman crashed to the ground, unconscious.

Kristin took a moment while the building next to the shed she was hiding in was demolished to consider her situation. Realizing she didn't have a second moment, she cast about desperately for something to help her. A colossal footstep spilled several containers. At her feet landed one with a familiar shield emblazoned on its lid. Willing to consider any alternative in her increasingly dwindling time, she tore it open. Within was mannequin costume kit The kit for the original Supergirl. Kristin sighed as her ancestral luck caught up with her, and donned the costume and wig. She strode out to see if Superwoman... If Laurel... was OK, and to try to not get killed distracting the Cyborg if she wasn't.

Uncertain how her powers worked, Kristin crept to the door and watched Superwoman, who was already stirring. She would be fine. A huge shadow fell over them, and Kristin reacted instinctively. She reached up and pushed with all her might and will. The Cyborg, surprisingly, toppled. In the time it took him to try to stand, the regrouped Legion joined the revived superwoman in tearing him apart and isolating his consciousness once more. As the Science Police took the computer module Brainiac 5 had trapped the Cyborg in away, Superwoman leaned over to Kristin and whispered, "I suppose there's only one way to get you to keep the Family Secret..." She stood back up and smiled. "Supergirl."

Kristin served as Supergirl for a very, very long time. She grew up, got her degree in History, and got a job teaching at Metropolis University. Superwoman had a son, and the new Superboy, Jordan Kent, treated Kristin like a big sister. As Laurel announced her intention to retire, it even looked as if for the first time in centuries, the new Superwoman would not be a Kent. To celebrate the occasion, Kristin applied for and received permission to travel back and observe the debut of the first Superwoman, whom she now knew had secretly been Karan Kent, Clark's sister from Krypton who had survived the destruction of Krypton's sole colony, Argo.

Kristin arrived at the right place at the right time, with a week's worth of identification and supplies so that she could observe Superwoman's presentation to the world before she left. Finding a place she knew was safe, she set her invisible Time Bubble to record the events. Superman and Doomsday appeared on schedule, fought on schedule, and then, at the appointed moment... Nothing happened. No Superwoman. Krisitn couldn't move. Any change could, in theory, erase her timeline. Her home. Everything and everyone she loved. As she stood paralyzed, before her eyes, Superman died.

Stunned, crying, scared, Kristin returned to the Time Bubble. She activated the recall, determined to ask Laurel and Jordan what could have gone wrong. The Time Bubble bounced off an impenetrable barrier in the timestream. Kristin noted the date before it spun out of control. It was the day Clark Ross and Sara Olsen's daughter had been born. She blacked out as the bubble crashed. When Kristin came to, she was in a dark place. The Time Bubble's Time Coil was melted into a rapidly dissolving liquid. She was trapped. Acting on her Temporal Historian's field training, she shunted all remaining power to the computer, and spread a worm that would establish a more permanent version of her identity here before deleting itself.

That done, she scanned the local records she could access until the power failed. There was no Superwoman, there was no Karan Kent, there wasn't even an Argo... Krypton had had no colonies. This was not her past. She believed that her future had been erased. She started to weep. She must have slept, for the early rays of sunshine were just beginning to peek through the warehouse windows as she awoke. The Time Bubble had just one functional system left. Kristin activated the Self-Destruct. The rush of air filling the space where it had been dislodged a small cardboard box from a palate. As it landed at her feet, she noted a familiar shield emblazoned on its lid. She picked it up and opened it. Halloween was a few weeks away. It was a cheap, illegal knock-off party costume. A redesign of Superman's costume, for a woman. Sighing at her family's luck, she put it on. Superwoman flew away into the rays of dawn.

Adventure Comics - Overview

I've decided to post some writing I thought was not too bad from old MUSH characters. Chosing "Adventure Comics" as a title came from a thread on RPGnet about being able to write one comic, but having to use an existing title. Adventure Comics is not currently being published. The post ended up with me not putting out my idea, because of a "Play Nice" clause where other characters and shared universes could not be altered. I wanted to use Superwoman, Tomorrow Woman, and a variant Supergirl from different alternate futures. However, all three are currently in use. So instead, I'm using the banner here.

ATOMICA: Let Freedom Ring (Part 3)

LET FREEDOM RING (Part 3)

The message was definitely getting out. Atomica's trip through Museum Station was uneventful, as the Raiders dwelling there had fled at her approach. A good thing, because Hannibal had insisted on accompanying her.

The two Supermutants outside the Museum itself were no particular trouble, as neither were armed with rockets. Hamlin was duly impressed. “By the Dawn's Early Light, girl! You shredded those brutes like tissue paper!”

Inside, Hannibal lead Atomica not to the historical exhibit as she had planned, but to the rear of the building. An exhibit based around Dante's Inferno. “Welcome to Underworld.”

Atomica gasped as she entered. A city of Ghouls, living peacefully in the remains of the old museum proper. She quickly spotted what she had learned were the usual types in any settlement. The cranky robot, the handyman, the town drunk, the slightly loopy merchant, they were all there. Just like in Megaton, Rivet City, and even Vault 101.

The inhabitants were largely unimpressed with her, superhero or not. She bought a full load of reserve energy cells and medchems to recharge the suit before tackling the haunted halls of the Lincoln Exhibit.

The memorial was surprisingly intact. She had been warned about the Ferals. The poor mindless once-human creatures were no particular threat, even when they attacked in force. The strange Glowing Ones were a bit tougher, but no more than a Supermutant. Hannibal continued to spout colourful bits of patriotica as they discovered more and more of Lincoln's actual preserved artifacts. She even managed to find his famous stovepipe hat.

The last piece, the one they came for, was in the center section. As Atomica and Hannibal entered, the lights were doused. From the darkness, the hissing of Ferals echoed about them. As Atomica brought up her PipBoy light, the hissing made words.

"Oncccccccce a maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan....” The guttural hiss startled her. Whipping about, she barely had time to see a hideous feral take a swing at her, knocking her off balance. Her attacker had a cunning spark of intelligence in its eyes. Its face was hideously deformed, with some kind of scarring and scaling evident. It wore the remains of a blue armoured suit with a stylized red cobra hood on its chest.

Atmoica rolled back with the impact as she went over, recovering from the blow into a leg-sweep up. The monster charged her, taking two blasts from her weapon without slowing down. She leapt over the stair railing into a clutch of ferals. She could handle them, but would have no time to drop them and save Hannibal. Unable to break from the creatures, she vowed the good man would be avenged, and his people lead to the liberated memorial.

Hannibal stepped in front of the poster, Lincoln's Repeater drawn. He was wearing the President's hat and greatcoat. The light over the poster of the Lincoln Memorial had somehow snapped back on, bathing the man in a halo of light. He placed his hand on the diary while the ghoul commander looked on in confusion and fear.

“Ten Score and Fifteen years ago, A great man brought forth upon a great nation a new era in the wake of the great Civil War, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. He stood against the forces of tyranny and opression, as do I, as did my ancestor Marvin F. Hinton when he held you back two hundred years ago.”

The commander hissed, recoiling.

“Yes, demon! Oppressor! I recognize your banner, I know who you are! And I will end your reign in the name of the Great Emancipator! And in the honor of my great-great-great-great grandfather! Here under Lincoln's Gaze, I call forth the spirit of his deed, and my heritage! You will die with my name on your lips! I am no longer merely Hannibal Hamlin! You may call me The Liberator! YO JOE!”

The Commander lunged. The Liberator fired the repeater, blasting him back into the darkness.

Atomica swore the light brightened around him as he stood waiting for the Commander to return. Dropping the last of her assailants, she bounded up the stairs. “Welcome to the club?”

The Liberator grinned. “I guess you're rubbing off on me, Atomica. Looks like we shall not perish from this earth after all. Lets go do some Liberating.”

Atomica smiled happily to herself as she followed the Wasteland's newest Superhero out into the Mall.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #4 (Part 2)

The Siege of Canterbury Commons (Part 2)

A long night of sharing Clover with Alexandra and Beatrice (1) left the Barbarian restless and pacing. As the caravan guards and her wife slept, she walked the fortified wall along the turrets. There, atop the mesa where once the AntAgonizer had hidden in her dim foresaken lair that was now used to store food and supplies, Rachel encountered Machete.

The angry and sullen young woman had no traffic with womanflesh, rendering her immune to Rachel's charms. The first time the Barbarian tried to seduce the sharp-tongued girl, Machete called her six incredibly rude names, one of which Rachel had not heard before. When Dominic apologized for his ward, Rachel laughed. “Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.” (2)

Instead, a strange sort of hostile friendship had grown between them. The women sat and shared a box of Potato Crisps, trading increasingly complex and clever insults as they watched the night from between two of the newest Turrets.

It was machete who spotted the armed force approaching from the NorthEast. Dozens of armed men and women, clad in black. Machette tapped Rachel on the thigh, at first causing the Barbarian to smile, thinking Machete had at long last admitted that she, like everyone else, wanted to sleep with her.

Alas, Rachel saw the girl's gaze and followed it, grimacing as she motioned for the young warrior to return to sound the alarm. Almost too late she spotted the shadow at her flank. Rachel spun a moment too slow, avoiding the swing of a blade that would have taken her head clean off. Too slow, for she took the hilt square to her jaw. The Barbarian was certain she had been addled by the blow, for before her stood a blurry form that looked entirely too like Carolina Red. Rachel would never know how the woman survived her fall from the water tower, for Machete's blade emerged from Red's throat before she could ask.

Machete cleaned her blade on Red's clothes. “I'll alert the others. Looks like Paradise Falls has sent troops backed up by Talon. You going to be OK?”

"When I cannot stand alone, it will be time to die," she mumbled, through mashed lips. "But I'd like a flagon of wine." (3)

Rolling her eyes, Machete called back, “Drinks on me if you're alive when I get back!”

Rachel braced for the first wave to come over the wall. The battle lust took her as she held one spot against ladders and ropes. Still, they spilled over. Red haze filled her vision as each cut and blow drove her fury to higher and higher burn. At some point, she heard the townsfolk approaching behind.

Reeling up, blood streaming down her face from under her dented helmet, Rachel glared dizzily at the profusion of destruction which spread before her. From crest to crest the dead lay strewn, a red carpet that choked the valley. It was like a red sea, with each wave a straggling line of corpses. She realized she had been corpses into butchered wetness. The first wave had fallen. The second held back at the naked, savage fury of the red haired woman. (4)

Machete ran to her side. “When did you get a helmet?” She took off the dented headgear. It had a Talon Company logo on it. Rachel shrugged. “Are the Iron Horses ready?” (5)

The Mechanist nodded. “Cleaned and repaired and awaiting only your command.” He threw a switch on his talisman and bright lights illuminated a clever raising platform concealed beneath the AntAgonizer's mound. There stood a score of the mechanical beasts.

The townsfolk stepped forth, clad in leather and helms. Rachel stepped into the light. "This day you become knights!" she laughed fiercely, pointing with her dripping sword towards the iron horses, herded nearby. "Mount and follow me to hell!" (6)

Rachel leapt astride her custom painted steed and lead the riders to battle.



Roaring down the battlements, the Canterburians charged the enemy. The Talons made a phalanx and set to receive the charge. The slavers were not so disciplined, and fell to the first wave of passes. Machete carried an Iron Dragon, and laid the remaining slavers to ruin with a rain of hellfire.

The Talons drove several riders to the ground, sacrificing their own to overbear the machines. Rachel ground several beneath her wheels, all the while swinging a length of chain from her first. Two Talons made the grave error of trying to intercept it. She dragged them to the edge of the steep drop and let go.

Rachel zoomed across the battlefield, intercepting and assailing where she was most needed. She leapt from her horse barely in time to save Roe from his own end at five to one odds. Between the two of them, the merchant partners survived to fight on.

It was morning before the last of the invaders fled. Exhausted and covered in the gore over a hundred dead, Rachel stood speaking with Uncle Roe.

“Our way has failed. There is darkness and evil in the Wasteland. I would be dead in my sleep tonight if not for you. And twice over in battle.” He knelt and offered his sword. “My Queen.”

The others followed, each kneeling. Even Machete bowed her head slightly.

Rachel nodded in proud satisfaction. “So be it. Arise, my people. There is much yet to do.” One arm around Roe's shoulders, the other Machete's, Rachel, Queen of Canterbury limped back to town to begin her reign.

(1 )From the Fallout: Van Buren design document notes.
(2) “The Tower Of The Elephant”, novelette; Weird Tales 21 3, Mar 1933
(3) “Rogues in the House”, novelette; Weird Tales 23 1, Jan 1934
(4) Entire Paragraph from “Black Colossus”, novelette; Weird Tales 21 6, Jun 1933
(5) Motorcycles.
(6) “Black Colossus”, novelette; Weird Tales 21 6, Jun 1933

Miranda: War On Steel Poster

Miranda: War On Steel #0 (Part 2)

War On Steel #0: Cold Comfort (Part 2)

It was mostly all busted up outside. Miranda had seen old pictures of the city, nice houses, beautiful buildings. Now there was just broken up bits. She could still kinda see the shapes of the houses. They musta been nice.

The damn machines were out here too. She put down the floating metal ball with a couple of shots. Killing robots was good, but not like killing men. That got done over at a big brick building that used to be a school. Now that was satisfying.

Her stupid pipboy pinged. It still ached when it did that. She followed the compass marker to the most horrible thing she had ever seen. An entire city made of machines. She knew better than to kill the robot with that many people around. She had one gun, not many bullets, and they all had some mean looking rifles.

The Sheriff was mean to her, and the people in the store yelled at her. She barely noticed, not just cause she was used to it. In the middle of the ugly crime against nature of a town was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. One big damn bomb.

Someone mentioned they had seen another jumpsuit like hers up at the saloon. She nearly vomited when she met her first Ghoul. Backing away, she encountered a snake of a man in the corner. She knew the type. When the guards would feel her up or Jonas would “accidentally” walk in to the showers when she or Amata were in there, they would talk all smooth like that.

Miranda learned what Ghouls were from this Mister Burke. Sick and twisted mockeries of humanity. Radioactive Zombies like in the George Romero films they used to get to watch on Halloween. This town, these people, the ghouls.. He wanted them gone. So did she. He wanted her to make the big bomb work. She had a small climax at the thought. Dealing with the Guards, the Tunnel Snakes, Jonas and Floyd had taught her how to talk to men. She got Mister Burke to agree to pay her double.

Miranda made her way through town, creeping in shadows and corners. She took everything she thought could be of value and sold most of it off to the merchants around town, trading for medicine and supplies for her walk to Tenpenny Tower. She stood and listened to the crazy preacher, lovingly caressing the warm casing of the bomb as she slipped the remote trigger in.

She stopped outside to spit on the robot, trade with a crazy drug dealer, and kill a beggar who deserved a little better death than the others were gonna get. The robot didn't even look.

Some packs of wild dogs and mutant flies gave her some trouble on the way. She met one of the Brotherhood of Steel on the Bridge on the way over by someplace called Fort Independence. He was mean to her too. Everyone always was. Her last bullet went into the head of a nasty rat thing. She was sad she didn;t have any to pump into the zombie at the gates of the tower.

Mister Burke not paid her, he paid her double, and creepy old Tenpenny gave her a room in the place. They even let her push the button. She got the switches wrong once on the computer in Mr. Burke's briefcase and instead, the box started playing music.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Blondie
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight make it right
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Oh uh huh make it magnificent
Tonight
Right
Oh your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Atomic
Tonight make it magnificent
Tonight
Make me tonight
Your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Atomic
Atomic
Oh
Mister Burke looked embarrassed. Mister Tenpenny laughed. Burke set the switches for her, and pointed to the button.

Miranda almost passed out from the powerful felling that ripped through her when the blast hit.

Mister Burke looked like he felt the same. He was still a creepy old bastard though.



Miranda was spent as she snuggled into her nice bed. “One down. Bout a million to go.” She fell asleep with a smile and dancing mushroom lights behind her closed eyes.

Miranda: War On Steel #0 (Part 1)

War On Steel #0: Cold Comfort (Part 1)

Miranda hated machines. But they started it.

As far as she could think back, there was always a machine hanging around, just waiting on a chance to do her dirty. Damn things even hurt her eyes when she was just a baby, showing pictures of the way she would look when she growed up. She turned out that way, sure, not that it did her any good.

At least machines bothered to get a hate on. People had no use at all for her.

What kind of dad leaves his baby girl all alone for hours on end? And always coming back to find her thumb pinched in the baby gate, or a toy Nuka Cola truck repainted in bright red from the gash it left falling on her head.

Maybe that last one happened a few too many times. It would explain some things.

Being the Vault Whipping Girl made her quick to talk her way out of trouble, but that just made damn sure to get her into even more dutch. Even her birthday party got her pounded on by the local bully and insulted a dozen times. Her dad got her a BB Gun that year she turned ten. Guns and cherry bombs were the only machines she could talk to. The rest just growled like angry animals and tried to take pieces of her whenever she got too close.

The special feeling she got killing radroaches with them didn't hurt none at all.

She got her periods the week after her birthday. That was bad enough, but then Dad made that damn machine do her exam. Cold metal just did not belong up in some places.

Somehow, Butch and his stupid gang knew all about it. The teasing and beatings never quite took a day off after, and she soon took to “helping them out” to avoid the beatings as they matured. Fingers and foul tastes mostly kept her from getting beat up. Mostly. She still got a good cuff now and again cause she never did let them in where the damn Robot hurt her. Not even the day she had to “help out” all three of them at once in the Men's Room to get them off Amata's back. Her smart mouth got her in trouble there too, cause Amata was mad at her. And then Mister Brotch gave her the business for being late.

The G.O.A.T. exam making her a member of the Maintenance Department was just the last straw. Spending her days getting cut, scraped, banged up, and bloody while bowing and scraping to the metal monsters made her even more sour than she started.

When Dad up and left without so much as a goodbye, they all blamed her too. She was ready to be stuck sumping the reactor forever, but the damn Overseer wanted her dead. “Thanks, Dad.”. If the whole world was gonna give her up for a bad job, she decided to make a bad job of it and get the hell out. Amata gave her a real gun to get out with.

The first man she killed caused shivers and a kind of joy she had never felt before deep inside, leaving her sweating and panting and her Vault jumpsuit feeling way too tight around her chest. But in a really good way. “Way better than Radroaches.”

Miranda killed every guard she couldn't hide from on her way out.
She only stopped when she heard Amata's dad and his chief thug about to do her some harm. She killed the Security Chief with a single shot to the back of the head. He never saw it coming. She let out a cry as a powerful spasm took her for a moment.

The Overseer turned pale as a ghost seeing the orgasmic flush come over her as she shot a man in the back in cold blood. He ran and locked himself in the jail cell as she was reloading.

Amata ran too. Miranda just scared the hell out of her.

Computers hated Miranda in special kinds of ways. She not only couldn't open the cell door, but she somehow managed to seal the room. The Overseer would just have to live with the fact he was scared of a girl.

Amata was hiding in her room. She gave Miranda the key to her dad's office, and hacked into his computer for her before running off. She learned about the outside, the people, about where her dad had come from.

Her life sucked because her dad ran away from men who wore machines. Machines were everything wrong in the world except for people, who were almost as bad.

Miranda killed two more guards as she left the Vault forever. There was a world out there, were men could not be trusted, and machines kept them alive. A world that men with machines had ruined in the first place.

Miranda stepped out into the light and decided that it was time to make things even. Cocking her pistol, she cradled the ice cold metal against her cheek. With the only machine that was her ally in her hand, she headed off to begin her one-woman War On Steel.