The Create-A-Post Thread

[Eddie Brock]

While making my usual rounds in the Awesome Pictures thread, I discovered a really, really fun concept, IMO. So without further ado, I give you:

GOTHAM HIGH!
Episode 1: Pilot

Thomas and Martha Wayne. My parents. They were killed when I was only a boy. And with that one act, the course of my life was forever changed. I struggled with my parents' death, searched for new meaning in my life. I dedicated myself to honoring my parents. I honed my body and mind, pushing myself to the very extremes, the very limits of human ability. As the sun rose and set every day, my only thought was of my parents and how to do right by them. And yet years and years of extensive, rigorous training have not prepared me for this day.

My first day of high school.

"Oh, boy," I say to myself as I stare up at the imposing monolith that is Gotham High. Many men far greater than I have fallen to this establishment. And though I may have thought myself ready, as I stand before these doors, I'm filled with an unexplainable sense of dread. What if I fail? What if I don't bring my parents honor and justice? What if I have a pimple?

"Hey, Brucie! Think fast!"

I turn, and my face is met with a water balloon. As the water splashes on my face, I hear that same cackling that haunts my dreams. Joey Kerr, class clown and town lowlife. No one seems to know anything about him - his home, his family, the truth about his shockingly pale complexion. All we know is that he lived to torment the middle schoolers, and it seems he's up to his old tricks again in high school.

As Joey runs away laughing, I dry my face with the sleeve of my shirt. So help me, I'll send that clown to detention if it's the last thing I do this year. Maybe Principal Loeb will be more competent than Principal Hill from Gotham Junior High. Then again, I've learned not to put my faith in the Gotham Municipal System.

"I see Joey got you," announces Babs Gordon, my oldest and closest friend. She walks up to me, smiling shyly behind her glasses and holding her books tightly. She reaches out and plucks a piece of balloon off my shoulder. We both share a laugh before she asks, "So...you ready to go in there?" She nods to the front door.

I sigh. "Ready as I'll ever be." As we ascend the steps towards the door, I look around at all the other fresh arrivals. We've gone to school together since kindergarten, so I've come to know them all well.

Eddie Nygma, a shy nerd who speaks in code and frequently finds himself a target of bullies.

Ozzy Cobblepot, a silver-tongued rich kid who escapes harassment because of his powerful father's connections.

Jonathan Crane, a self-professed "tortured soul" who spends all of his time alone, working on chemistry.

Harley Quinzell, Joey Kerr's partner-in-crime and on-again/off-again girlfriend.

Bane, star linebacker for the Gotham High football team and terror of the hallways.

Waylon Jones, offensive lineman for the football team and occasionally bullying partner for Bane.

Pamela Isley, head cheerleader and narcissistic "queen" of Gotham High.

As Babs and I climb up the steps, someone approaches me from behind and puts their hand on my shoulder. I look down to see freshly-manicured nails and fingerings adorning multiple rings. "Hey there, Bruce," purrs Selina Kyle, resident tomgirl and my longtime crush. "See you inside." And just like that, she walks away, catching the eye of every guy she crosses.

When we finally reach the doors, my good friend Harvey Dent is handing out fliers. Harvey can be a little moody, but I forgive him for it because I know he's a good guy. He sees me and smiles, thrusting a flier into my arms. "Hey, Bruce! Vote for Harvey!" He forces a flier on Babs, too.

I look down at the flier. It's a campaign ad for Harvey. "Isn't it a little early for campaigning, Harv? Elections aren't until November."

"I know, but you can never start too soon!" Harvey looks at me and frowns. "Especially since my competition is Pamela Isley." He glares over my shoulder at Pamela, who's laughing it up with her fellow cheerleaders. "She's been on Student Council for the past two years, and now she's running for Student Body President. I don't stand a chance."

I pat my friend on the arm, giving him a confident smile. "Don't say that, Harv. You'll do great."

"I'm going to go say 'hi' to my Dad in the Guidance Office," Babs announces. Her father is a guidance counselor here at Gotham High. I know he's excited to have his daughter coming to school with him. Babs tucks Harvey's flier away between her books and rushes off.

"So what do you think, Bruce? High school's not so bad, right?"

I look around the hallways. They certainly seem normal enough. Of course, I know looks can be deceiving. And, after all, it's only been about a minute so far. "We'll see, Harvey. We'll see."
​

 

[Carnage27]

Three men walk along the darkened New York Streets, clinging tightly to their coats. They're not cold, but the automatic weapons they carry beneath them need to stay hidden. The stories that have been going around the past few weeks have frightened them, and they have no desire to run into them tonight. No desire at all. But they can't not go on this heist. Their boss has felt the squeeze, and their organization is getting desperate.

As they walk to their destination, they pass an electronics store with the late night news playing on the TVs in the display. On the screen, a pretty reporter comments on the recent wave of unexplained happenings, "You've all heard the stories circulating the past few weeks. That an unnamed, unidentified person or creature has been beating the city's thugs to a pulp at crime scenes and leaving them for the police force to pick up. I'm here tonight to bring you a special investigative report to start to shed light on these interesting rumors."

The men go next door to a jewelry store were the proprietors live up stairs. Before breaking down the alley door into the establishment, one of them finds a circuit breaker and cuts the automatic alarm.

Once the job is done, the large one of the group slams his heavy shoulder into the door, and the old wooden frame gives in. Instantly, the two other smaller men rush upstairs, and bring the family that owns the store back downstairs at gun point.

With the children crying, the men force the father to unlock the store's cases so they can take their haul. The entire time, they can still hear the muffled news report coming through the wall next door, "I first started by interviewing one of the men that claims to be beaten by this secret hero."

"I don't know, man," the interviewee's voice is heard. "One minute I'm taking in my haul, the next minute all the lights go out. And then I catch a little bit of movement out the corner of my eye. This thing, it ain't a man, this thing was like part of the darkness. It moved like it was a shadow."

Almost like clockwork, the jewelry store is plunged into darkness. The big thug, obviously the leader, snaps at the man who shut off the alarm, "You idiot! You screwed up the lights."

The other one replies, "No man...it's the thing! It's here!"

A thud can be heard upstairs and the final robber replies in a hushed voice, "You hear that?"

"Yea," the big guy says before turning to the electrical expert, "go upstairs and check it out."

The electrician accepts his role, and shaking, walks up stairs. He's instantly drawn to a room in the front of the house whose window lies open. A window he remembers being closed the last time he was up here.

Entering the room, he scans the room, but sees nothing. But he didn't look hard enough. As he turns to leave, something sharp clips his hand holding his gun, causing him to drop it. It makes an insignificant, soft thump on the carpeted floor. Like a flash, a palm strikes him in the throat, muffling any scream he may have made, before two hands slam against the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

All the while, the sound of the news report floats up through the open window, "I even spoke with the chief of police, who has taken a personal interest in this case. He did not want to be interviewed on camera, but he did share some interesting tales, such as perpetrators claiming that this one creature has taken out up to six of them at a time in rapid succession. And the chief also reports that different prisoners have claimed to have been stopped by this hero at different places across the city at the same time at up to four different places at once."

Next, the big man sends up his other accomplice to check on the electrician. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees his friend laid out cold in the doorway to the room, and runs up to check on him. But he makes a big mistake not calling out for help.

Something drops from the ceiling behind him, kicking his gun out of his hand from behind and placing him in a choke hold. The man's face goes purple, and he passes out in his attackers arms, and is then placed on top of the other burglar.

Downstairs, the big man becomes impatient, "Damn it. No one can do anything right but me."

He leaves the family downstairs and heads up to find his partners. But all he finds is a pile of unconscious bodies in the hallway, and a hulking figure standing over them. He attempts to raise his gun, but it's knocked out of his hand by a thrown projectile. Not being one to run from a fight, the big man puts brass knuckles over his hand and rushes the figure, driving the fist into its sternum.

But the blow has the opposite effect than expected. It gives off a loud crack as the metal meets an armor like substance mixed with the large man's hand breaking. He shouts in pain, "What the hell are you!?"

Before delivering a headbutt, the shadow replies, "Your worst nightmare."

"Whatever this hero is, whether some experiment gone wrong or some brave soul willing to risk his life for the good of the city, I know I feel safer having him around. And who ever he, or they are, I'd just like to say thank you. Reporting for Channel Five News, this has been April O'Neil, signing off."

By the time the police arrive, they find the robbers tied to each other, unconscious. But there is no sign of the mysterious attacker. Because he is a ninja. He strikes hard, and fades back into the night.

**************

OOC: This post was brought to you by the "I miss From the Pages of..." Committee
​

 

[Batman]

"It's over there."

Lois Lane bit her lip as she stepped under the crime scene tape, stretching it upwards just high enough for her accompanying cameraman to fit through. But even as he fumbled and tried to collect his lighting equipment before it spilled out of the bag, Lois' mind was focused directly infront of her at the scene of the incident, ready to get in and get out at a moment's notice. Perry had made it clear from the moment he had given her the assignment - make it quick, make it simple, and make it newsworthy. Luckily for him, she thought to herself, she was the best reporter in town. Nobody in Metropolis got an exclusive like Planet Media's highest rated correspondent.

"Hurry it up, will you?", she called out behind her. "A couple more seconds and the CSI units should have their grubby little fingers all over this. And I am not bailing you out of jail again just because you can't outrace a pair of six inch heels back to the car."

"Harsh,", replied Jimmy Olsen, the 28-year-old videographer who had been frequently made to be Lois' tagalong. "Just give me a sec, Lois. It'll still be there by the time we've set up."

"No time for that. We're gonna have to do this guirella."

"You say that about every story. Would it kill you to be a little patient once in awhile?"

A wide smirk on her lips as she stepped onto the sidewalk of the scene, Lois turned back and watched Olsen hoist his gear along to the spot. "Kid, I didn't get where I am today by being patient. Now quit whining and start recording."

Opening up her compact, she quickly scanned her face for any signs of blemishes and gently brushed her hair backwards with her fingertips. She hadn't been particularly known for being the most glamorous newscaster in the business, but if it spared her another one of Perry White's famous lectures, it was worth the effort.

"Quick, how's my hair look?"

"Uh, good? I guess."

Lois sneered. "You guess."

"What? I mean, it looks fine. Why are you asking me?"

Rolling her eyes, Lois cleared her throat and stood up straight.

"Forget it. Let's just get this on wax before we're accused of contaminating another oh-so-precious crime scene."

Setting his camera to the appropriate settings, Olsen hoisted it over his shoulder and got into position. Giving Lois the cue of a five-fingered countdown, he pointed at her as soon as the light hit her face, momentarily causing her to flinch. "We're rolling."

Gathering herself, the ace reporter smiled back at the camera with a look so practiced that even she might have mistaken herself to be a pleasant sight to behold.

"Good evening Metropolis, this is Lois Lane coming to you live from Suicide Slums. After several weeks of reported sightings of a mysterious figure that has been said to put a stop to over a dozen attempted robberies in the city's market district, police have now discovered what seems to be an indication of truth to the claims of vigilante justice being brought to our fair streets."

Indicating the wall behind her, she used her hand to underline the unusual mark burned into it's bricks. "Seen behind me is just one of nearly a dozen recently discovered insignias left across the district in the last week. What do they mean? Who is responsible for their appearance, and what motives lie behind this mysterious person, whom many of the Slum's natives now refer to as savior? Tonight, The Daily Planet comes closer to the truth, as I interview three exclusive eyewitness sources. Stay tuned for more after these messages."

Nodding, Olsen carefully switched the dial that cut the signal, just in time for the Planet's station editors to splice in the commercials off of the feed. Lois took a deep breath, lowering her microphone and pulling out her smartphone. It was 7:45, at least an hour after she was supposed to be clocking out and heading home. Women her age were normally out on dates, or doing something exciting with their time. Looking back at the wall, she realized that all she had to do with her time was look at a bunch of stylized graffiti.

"Should be ready to roll in the next minute. You wanna go inside for the next shot?"

Lost in thought, she looked back at Olsen and shrugged.

"Oh, sure. Need any help with the equipment?"

"Nah, I got it. Wouldn't want you to chip a nail."

Playfully hitting him on the shoulder as he chuckled, she waited for him to gather his things.

"Hysterical. I can see why you're a behind-the-scenes kinda guy."

Olsen shook his head. "Hey, that's only because the chief won't let me infront of the camera. I think he's just jealous of my rugged good looks."

"Modesty would do you well, Jimmy. You've been hanging out with Lombard for too long."

Stopping in mid walk, Olsen stared back at the wall for a minute. The insignia had obviously captured his attention. Looking at it again herself, Lois seemed to have lost interest. "What? See something I don't?"

"No. It's just... how do you think he did this? It's still burning, so he must've done it pretty quick to be able to take off before the cops arrived."

"How should I know? Probably got some lighter fluid and thought to paint himself a portrait. All these whackjobs have their own agenda, and thankfully it's not our job to know what it is."

"Maybe."

Following Olsen inside, she continued.

"Besides, who cares? More than likely, the cops will find whoever did it in the next few hours and toss him right on his ass in a cell at Stryker's Island. Believe me, by the time tomorrow hits..."

"This'll be long since forgotten."

 

[Byrd Man]

You have time for this but not UDC, huh?

 

[Carnage27]

I'll get yelled at for not posting in an actual game...but whatever, this has been eating at my brain for a little.

This post is also brought to you by the I Miss the From the Pages Of... RPG Committee.

**********

The bell rings and the students file out of the classroom quickly, handing in their finals as they go, obviously ready to leave and get their summer started. And for me? Well, I guess I'm ready for summer as well. It's time to get back in the field, I've been teaching for far too long at this point. I need to feel the hard, uncivilized ground beneath my feet, get grit and grime underneath my fingernails, and breath deep the stale air of some ancient tomb.

As I organize the tests on my desk, a voice is heard from my doorway, carrying with it a British accent, "Doctor Jones, I was wondering if I may have a word with you. My...associate needs your assistance."

I look up to find a beautiful young blond standing in the doorframe. Her beauty almost disarms me for a moment, but I quickly regain myself, "If your associate wanted to talk to me why didn't he come?"

"I dunno," she shrugs. "Said somethin' about being nervous. Neva seen him nervous before. But he's in the auditorium."

"Well, he didn't set up a meeting, and honestly, I don't have time for this," I respond with a sigh.

"It's important. He insisted it was," she says, refusing to move from the doorway as I attempt to leave. "And time won't be a problem. Trust me on that."

Shaking my head I motion, "Well, lead the way."

After a few moments, the two of us are in the school auditorium, where I find a man sitting at a table wearing a blue pin-striped suite. As I approach, he hops up and shoves his hand into mine, shaking it rapidly, speaking in a similar accent to the girl, "Dr. Jones. It is an honor to finally meet you. Such a legend. Can't believe I've never crossed your path before. I do hope I'm not-"

"Okay, okay," I smile nervously, retrieving my hand from his. "What do you need me for?"

"Ah well, yes," he responds, sitting down. "Down to business then. Just like I would expect from a man of your stature. Ahhh...Dr. Jones. I'm here to ask you about the Ark of the Covenant."

I instantly spring from my feet. The situation is all too similar. A strange pair of visitors ask me to talk to them about the Ark. his time their British, and I haven't heard a peep about my greatest find since the boys from D.C. took it from my grasp and locked it away somewhere.

I sneer. "Are you from Scotland Yard? Who are you and how do you know? Who took it? Where is the Ark?"

"Well, to you first question: No, I'm not with Scotland Yard. Although there was a time in the 1800s, but that doesn't count-"

"1800s..? What are you? Some kinda nut?" I respond, realizing this man has to be mad.

"No, Doctor Jones...I'm The Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler. We're from the future..."

"...and the future needs Indiana Jones."
​

 

[Byrd Man]

You want FTPO back so bad, throw up an app. Let's see if it can get more interest than you, weig, and I.

 

[Carnage27]

You want FTPO back so bad, throw up an app. Let's see if it can get more interest than you, weig, and I.

I'm done school on Monday. I've been working on a story treatment for a new one for like a month. Once that's done I'll put up an app.

I think I'll PM you and weig this weekend about my ideas.

 

[Byrd Man]

Looking forward to seeing what you got.

 

[Andy C.]

Posting as Spider-Man in One Earth has got me thinking about all the unfinished stories I had in mind for All-Star Marvel again. While the game unfortunately lost its momentum between seasons and went out with a whimper, I had plans for Spidey that could have gone four, maybe five seasons. So here's another peek into the far-flung future that never will be:

(complete with a little mood music):
http://youtu.be/9c2ZJPKz5u8





I hate this place, I think to myself as I make my way towards my destination. The sky is a dull gray, a blanket of clouds that lets out a small, miserable drizzle, but doesn't quite open up enough to really rain. It's like when you're nauseous all day, but are never able to just be sick and get it over with.

And I do feel sick, as I walk along the paved walkway up a rolling hill, past rows of rain-slick headstones.

Three days ago, Mary Jane went missing. Yesterday, I found a note on the door of my apartment, showing me only a time and a set of coordinates. Those coordinates led me here.

I hate this place; it's full of painful things, things that I don't want to think about, but can't ever forget.

About a hundred yards down the hill, my biological parents are buried, dead before I was even a month old.

Beside them, my Uncle Ben and Aunt May, killed by anonymous thugs while I was out stirring up trouble, victims of my own irresponsibility.

On the far side of the grounds, Doctor Curt Connors and his wife Martha are interred in a vault, the end result of a murder/suicide for which I took the blame; two people I failed to save.

Ten yards to my right, I see where Gwen was laid to rest, her heart stopped by a Razor-Bat that was meant for me....the girl who I loved my entire life, the girl who died in my name.

And at the top of the hill, an elaborate crypt, the final resting place of the monster who took her and so many others.

I hate this place.

Which, of course, is why he chose it.

A low rumble of weak thunder rolls through the sky. I see him, dressed in black, covered in a long cloak and hood.

"I should have known," I say, stopping ten paces away from him. "The whole time.....I should have known it was you."

The cloaked figure doesn't move or speak to acknowledge my presence. Underneath that hood, though, I can feel his eyes burning at me.

"The Black Suit......Venom......the Hobgoblin.......Jackal and his clones......" I say, listing them off like an old veteran showing off his war wounds--which they might as well be, given how deeply each one scarred my soul. "I thought they were all just separate events, the universe screwing with my life over and over again. I thought all the terrible things that happened, just *happened.* But I should have known."

The figure doesn't move, but I can see his stance growing tense. He knows that I know; he just wants me to say it out loud first.

"I didn't want to admit that there was something, someone, who could keep getting to me like that over and over.......but it was the only answer. It was you all along. It had to be. Ever since that night on the George Washington Bridge, you've been attacking me through proxies. That's why the symbiote found me. That's how Kingsley got a hold of the Goblin formula. That's how Warren was able to clone me, to make....the twins........because behind the scenes, you were handing them everything they needed!"

I clench my fist, gripping tight the mask folded up in my palm; I had hoped I wouldn't need it, but there's no way this is going to end well.

"The only thing I haven't figured out, then, is......why?"

The cloaked figure pulls his hands up into his hood to pull it back.

"Isn't it obvious, Pete?" he says, revealing his face. "You killed my father."

"Harry," I say, my gut twisting as I see him. "Norman Osborn was a lunatic and a murderer."

"Oh, Pete," Harry says with a mocking laugh. "He was so much worse than that. The things he did to my mother......the things he did to me during those years I was 'studying abroad in England.' I was his personal guinea pig for three years, then he wiped my mind and built a new one on top of it so I wouldn't remember. He took away my childhood, my identity......oh, and what did he take from you?"

"You know exactly who he took from me," I say, the anger rising in my voice.

"And so you killed him," Harry says. "You killed him.....before I got the chance to do it myself. Just like he probably wanted; he always did like you better than me."

"That's why you did all this?! Why you've been hounding me, putting my life and the lives of the people I love in the hands of psychopaths, why all those people died? Because you wanted to kill him first?!"

"Because you stole my legacy, Pete!" Harry spits. "Look at us: the heirs to the kingdom of a man we both hated. I should have been the one to overthrow him and take the throne. I took control of Oscorp, and I inherited the family fortune, but the legacy he really gave me.....the hurt, the hate, the madness......you took that from me. So I started taking from you."

I look at my best friend in disbelief.

"You're insane," I say.

Harry grins.

"What can I say?" he says. "As much as I hated the man, the old cliche still stands......like father....."

He reaches into a pocket within his cloak.

".....like son."

Out from his cloak he pulls a bright green mask, and my blood runs cold.

"No," I say. "Harry......don't do this."

"I've taken everything I can from you, Pete," Harry says, staring wide-eyed at the mask in his hands. "Now it's time I take from him."

"Harry, tell me where Mary Jane is and forget about this," I say, doing everything I can to not explode with anger. "If you put that mask on.....I swear to God I will put you down."

"You're going to have to, if you want MJ," Harry looks up, his face contorting into a horrifying grin. "I've got her hanging from the radio antenna on top of the Oscorp Tower; first one from here to there gets the girl! It'll be just like old times!"

"God dammit, Harry, STOP IT!"

"I can't be the better man than my father," he says, pulling the mask over his face, ".....but to take his legacy from him.....I'll be a better Goblin...."

I rip the plainclothes off from over my costume and pull the mask over my face, as I hear the all-too-familiar whine of the Glider's engines swooping down towards Harry.

From there, everything is a blur of motion, of webs and fire.....and pain.

Spider-Man and the Green Goblin.

Just like old times.

 

[Carnage27]

Seriously Andy, your Spider-man is ridiculous.

This has me wanting to post some stuff I was planning on doing in the Independents game.

 

[Andy C.]

CREATE-A-CHRISTMAS CAROL
By Andy C.

Chapter I:

Andy C. sighed, weary after a long day's work. Feet aching, nerves shot, and still vaguely smelling of grill grease from making philly cheesesteaks for ungrateful rednecks all day, he slumped into his chair--wincing when he heard the chair's creaking in strain from his not inconsiderable heft-- and fired up his computer, logging into the SuperHeroHype forums.

"And what manner of idiocy have these dolts prepared for me today?" he groused as he scrolled through the threads. "Once again, a big crossover arc involving the Justice League has ground to a halt and ended with a whimper, I see. Oh, and I see Watchman is doing another far-flung psychadelic arc that requires doing LSD with Hunter S. Thompson to follow. And oh, look, another Batman villain in Ultimate DC 're-imagined' as a corrupt cop. Ho-hum, I suppose if anyone's going to do anything right around here, I'll have to do it myself."

Andy clicked on the respond button in order to begin a new post, but as soon as his fingers touched the keyboard.....

"Well, I suppose I don't have to do it right away...." he found himself thinking, opening a second tab to check on his Facebook.

Andy filed through the long list of family members and distant acquaintances from work or college and their typical drivel: insipid comments about their football team of choice, some preachy political rant about whatever minor thing they heard about in the news that day, pictures of their baby, and the like. And, on an exceedingly rare occasion, the odd comment about the fact that tonight was in fact Christmas Eve.

"Hmph," he mused, "I'll wager the rest of the Basement dwellers are also settling in for their long winter's nap as well. Oh well, I suppose there's no point in me posting now only for it to go unnoticed until after the holiday festivities."

Just as he was about to close the window, an instant message popped up.


Byrd says:
POOOOOOOOOOOOST!

Andy closed the IM box, then snorted.

"Post?" he said. "Bah! Humbug."

With that, the cranky overweight curmudgeon minimized his web browser and pulled up a game of Minesweeper. Just to kill a few minutes, you see.


Several hours later, Andy C. was slumped over his keyboard, his eyelids heavy. It was time to go to sleep--far past that time, as a matter of fact. The Basement dweller thought of turning in, but instead began watching random videos found on The Awesomer.

Much to his surprise, however, the video of two Asian kids staging a ridiculously-over-choreographed lightsaber duel set to a dubstep remix of Pachelbel's "Canon in D" began to change, the monitor of his computer taking on a whole different form, transforming into a familiar face....

"Aaaaaandy......." the face groaned. "Aaaaaaaandy Ceeeeeee......."

Andy stared in disbelief.

"It can't be!" he said. "My old RPG partner, Master Bruce! Dead these seven years!"

"Wait, what? Seven years?" the spectral form of MB blinked. "I haven't been dead seven years."

"Really? You haven't posted in, like, ages. I thought you died or something."

"Well I didn't."

"Then how are you a ghost?"

"Shut up," MB cut him off. "Anyway, as I was saying......Aaaaaandyyyy......"

"Yeah, I'm listening, you don't have to keep saying my name."

"I'm trying to build atmosphere, dammit!" the ghost snapped. "Look, I'm here to serve as a warning, to get you to understand the importance of posting."

"Posting? Bah! Humbug."

"Oh, you say that now," said MB, "But if you do not begin to post, then you are doomed to share the same fate as I."

Out from the computer monitor, the ghost of not-dead Master Bruce dangled a long, heavy chain from his arm.

"Every link on this chain represents a time I've been made the butt of a joke for not posting," he explain. "And I must carry that stigma with me everywhere I go, for all time."

"Well that's.....pretty annoying, I imagine," Andy C. said.

"You have no idea," sighed MB. "Anyway, you will be visited tonight by three characters. They will show you the true meaning of the Hype RPGs, and the value of posting."

"Isn't this all a little heavy-handed and contrived?"

"Farewell, Andy C.," the ghostly face of MB said as he faded back into the monitor. "The first spirit shall appear when the clock strikes one!.......or maybe twelve.....hang on, what time zone are you in?.....Screw it, you'll know him when you see him!"

As the spectre of Master Bruce dissipated, Andy C. stared at his computer in astonishment.

"I have got to start going to bed earlier," he said to himself, dismissing the encounter as some bizarre waking dream brought on by sleep deprivation. "Anyway, time to look at some porn before going to bed."



An hour later, Andy C. tucked himself in underneath his sheets, laid his head down on the pillow, and closed his eyes, finally getting some long-awaited shut-eye.

When all of a sudden, there rose such a clatter....

Andy sprung out of bed to see what was the matter....

Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash....

He looked, saw a figure, then looked once again,
Just to make sure he hadn't gone outright insane.

He could swear that outside, twixt the blinking Christmas lights
Was a scrawny teenager in spider-themed tights.

He rapped on the glass, and spoke, to Andy's surprise,
"Dude, I think you're referencing the wrong Christmas franchise."



Andy was so astonished by what he was seeing that he dropped ongoing rhyme scheme entirely.

"Oh, no frakking way," he said.

"You mind letting me in?" the masked superhero said. "When regarding the temperature out here, the phrase 'witch's teat' comes to mind."

Andy opened the window, and in stepped.....

".....All-Star Spider-Man?!"

"I've been known by that name from time to time," he said. "More accurately to the theme of this little adventure, though, I'm the Ghost of RPGs Past. And you're comin' with me."

TO BE CONTINUED
​

 

[wiegeabo]

that almost makes me want to make a post.

someday.

 

[Andy C.]

CHAPTER II

"Slow down!" said Andy C. as the cold winter air whipped at his face, swinging through the night slung over the shoulder of--much to his disbelief--his own interpretation of Spider-Man from the All-Star Marvel RPG, now calling himself the Ghost of RPGs Past. "I'm going to be sick!"

"Sorry, no can do," replied Spidey, throwing out another line of webbing into the dark night sky. "Only really have two speeds: swinging and not swinging. If you're gonna puke, I'd really appreciate it if you turned your head away; I don't think I need to explain the dangers of horking straight forward while traveling in a parabolic arc at high speed."

As they crested the next arc and Spidey began to swing down yet again, Andy felt his stomach lurch into his throat. He turned his head to one side, and ejected the remnants of the evening's microwaved lasagna out into the night.

"Attaboy, just get it all out," Spider-Man said. "Not much longer, pal; we're almost there."

Andy C. groaned sickly as they swung, rising and falling, speeding up and slowing down, his stomach doing an entirely different set of acrobatics from the rest of his body. Finally, though, they stopped.

"Well, we're here," he said, showing him a ground-level window to a familiar-looking house in Missouri.

"Wait...." said Andy. "My mom's house?"

"And not just any old your mom's house," Spidey pointed out. "Your mom's house in the spring of 2006. Let's take a look at what's going on in the basement, shall we?"

Peering in through the lower window, they saw a pudgy figure sitting down at a computer.

"Good heavens, that's....that's me!" Andy exclaimed. "Back when I still had a jaw line!"

"Shame about the hair, though," said the Ghost of RPGs Past. "I guess nobody told you at the time that there's a big difference between 'I'm a badass rock star' long hair and 'I play too much World of Warcraft' long hair."

"Hey, shut up," Andy grumbled. "Wait a minute....I remember this....I was searching for leaked news about Superman Returns and I came across SuperHeroHype. This was the day I started poking around in the forums! This....this was the day I signed up for...."

"General Zod in the original One Universe RPG," said Spider-Man. "Your first character in the Hype RPGs, and your first attempt at doing a big grand story arc."

"Ugh, don't remind me," the pudgy gamer groaned. "I totally stepped all over Question and LibrarianThorne's big meeting between Doctor Doom and Lex Luthor, hijacked other people's stuff by attacking Chicago and then invading Washington DC, and then did everything I could to force Byrd and Wieg out of the big final fight between Zod and Superman. I was totally unprofessional, just absolute amateur hour."

"Maybe," said Spidey, "but look at your face. Look at the excitement in your eyes. You were having fun. You didn't post just to get Byrd Man off your back; you posted because you just plain wanted to."

All-Star Spider-Man stood up, firing off a web line into the distance.

"Well, gotta keep moving," he said. "We've still got some more stops to make."

"Can we please not do the web-swinging?" Andy pleaded. "It's so bad for my stomach."

"Are you kidding me? This is the only way to travel," Spider-Man responded. "I mean that literally, by the way; I can't fly and I don't have a driver's license, so this is seriously the only way we can get around."

After another stomach-juggling journey, they came to a stop. Andy looked around, and found himself on a sidewalk in deep south Alabama, the sweltering summer heat and torturous humidity absolutely unbearable.

"Oh, God," he said, sweating bullets nearly the instant they touched down. "Where and when are we now?"

Andy and Spidey watched as another past incarnation of Andy C. strolled along the sidewalk, a pair of headphones blaring bad heavy metal into his ears as he walked uphill towards a tall building at the end of the street.

"Summer 2007," Spider-Man said. "You stayed on campus to take an extra semester of college in order to graduate on time, but your dorm didn't have internet access. So there you go, on your way to the campus library, the only place with a computer lab open, so you could continue writing--"

"Ultimate Brainiac," Andy said breathlessly. "This was when we got the Ultimate DC Trinity together, and at the same time began my love of playing Lex Luthor. This arc was insane! And I didn't even get to work on it on my own time; I had to stick within the confines of the library. I went out of the way, put myself through great inconvenience, just so I could post every day."

"Because you were hooked," Spidey said. "Because you loved the games and they loved you back. Here's another bit from later that year."

Spider-Man grabbed Andy by the arm and yanked him along, though thankfully only for a single swing, and they found themselves seated at a small desk in the student lounge of Andy's last college dorm room, the early morning sun poking through the windows as another past Andy feverishly drew a map on the computer's MSPaint.

"Oh my God, that's....the Silver Age RPG!"

"The one that you poured your heart and soul into creating, but never got off its feet," Spidey said somberly, like mourning a fallen comrade. "Still, even though your ridiculously complicated rule-set and your die-hard adherence to a PG-rated retro atmosphere went over with the other players like a wet fart in church, you still learned a lot from the experience. You learned that it's not the feedback and praise that matters, but the joy of creation itself."

"I still think that game would have worked," Andy muttered.

"Yeah, and you also still think that it's okay to wear a hoodie with shorts."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

After a few moments of awkward silence, Spider-Man stood again.

"Anyway, it's time to go to my favorite stop," he said, dragging Andy along with him for another gut-wrenching ride.

They came to a stop outside a two-story house, the weather appropriately cold again. Once again, they saw Andy sitting in front of a computer, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard.

"Oh wow," Andy said, not even needing Spider-Man's prompting. "January of 2010, right? This was the day I applied for the All-Star Marvel RPG. This was the day I started playing....you...."

"Times like these I'm glad my mask covers my entire face," said the teenage hero, an obvious lump in his throat. "I'm actually getting a little ferklempt here."

"The character I could never really let go," Andy said wistfully. "The one I'd stay up at night obsessing over, that I'd sneak into the bathroom at work to write posts on my phone for, the one whose career I plotted out in excruciating detail, and never could accept that the game ended. Sure, I wasn't the best GM, and the game suffered from a severely limited player-base, but damn, I loved playing you."

"Now you're getting it," Spidey said, patting Andy on the back. "Nobody's forcing you to stay in the games--you can come and go any time you want. But you make the Basement your home away from home because you want to be there. At the end of the day, a hobby like this is nothing, if not a labor of love."

"Hmm," Andy mused to himself.

"And I'm gonna end it right there, because two dudes talking about love while peeping in on a third dude is considerably gayer in practice than I thought it was gonna be," said Spider-Man. "Y'know, not that there's anything wrong with that, but--"

"*ahem* right, right," said Andy, clearing his throat, trying to think of something to say to break the uncomfortable silence. "Soooo......now what?"

"Well, um, now I'm gonna drop you off back at your place, and the next guy should be coming along shortly."

A short but equally nauseating series of web-swinging later, All-Star Spider-Man swung back into the window of Andy's apartment, leaving the Basement dweller back in his bedroom. They exchanged one of those weird home-boy handshakes that then turned into a bro-hug (the one that's a combination chest-bump and pat on the back), and just like that, the fictional character was gone, leaving Andy alone and confused again.

"Well, I'm tired," Andy said to himself. "Maybe I can get a quick nap in before the next--"

His internal monologue was cut off by a noise from the kitchen. Stepping out of his room, Andy turned on the lights and saw a frighteningly skinny man in a dingy purple suit digging around in his pantry.

"You'd think any decent self-respecting loser would have a bag of Funyuns handy at all times," the man said to himself. "I'm starving!"

"Oh, no," said Andy, his voice full of dread. "Not you."

"Yes, me!" said the thin pale man, turning towards him.

"One-Earth Joker, a.k.a. The Ghost of RPGs Present! Let's get this party really going, shall we?"

TO BE CONTINUED
​

 

[Batman]

Nice. I'm quite enjoying this, it's a very clever spin on the story that I swear nobody can do a good parody of anymore.

 

[Andy C.]

The best is yet to come. Later. Right now, though, I'm beat.

 

[Andy C.]

PART III

"All that planning and plotting and revising and posting," said the One-Earth Joker as he and Andy C. walked down a busy snow-covered street. "Makes ya sick after a while, doesn't it? Putting all that work into a story arc and knowing that maybe a dozen people on the entire planet are going to read it, and the only reward you get is maybe a tip of the hat in the OOC threads. Times like that it starts to feel more like a chore, eh?"

"I wouldn't say a chore, exactly," Andy said defensively. "Maybe more of an obligation, or a duty."

"Heh, 'doody,'" the man laughed to himself. "Well, while we're strolling down this disgustingly Victorian boulevard, let's take a look in at some of the houses and see what everyone's up to, shall we?"

Stopping along one of the rows of old-timey houses, they peered in through a frost covered window and saw someone sitting at his computer.

"Why, it's Carnage27!" exclaimed Andy. "And he's putting out another post as Captain America!"

"I'm pretty sure he's already managed to put out more posts in the short time One-Earth has been around than you did during your entire run as Cap in All-Star," the Joker snickered.

"Don't remind me."

"Too late! Just did," he said with a laugh."Ooh! I wonder what's going on in that window over there!"

Shoving carolers and shoppers out of his way, and then going out of his own way to shove an elderly woman on a patch of ice, the Joker moved over to another window, wherein Andy C. saw another fellow RP'er plucking away.

"Why, it's MST3K4Ever!" he said. "He's just finished posting as one of his characters, and--my word! He's about to post as his other two immediately after!"

"Well, that happens when you play multiple characters, all of whom you are eager to play," he said. "And what have we here?"

Andy turned his attention to see two familiar figures.

"Well I'll be! BK and Catman are both back!......oh, wait, no, just BK. Catman changed his mind and ran off again."

"Better than both of them running off, I guess," Joker shrugged. "Anyway, are you getting what I'm trying to pound into your thick greasy head?"

"My head is not greasy," Andy said.

"Hah, tell that to your dermatologist," he laughed.

"Shut up. Anyway, no, I don't really get what you're doing, just showing me other members posting."

"Exactly," Joker said. "They're posting. A lot. And more than that, they're enjoying the fact that they're posting. They're having fun! I mean, look at you. You're not posting; instead, you're standing out in the snow with a homicidal psychopath peeping into people's windows. Are you having fun?"

"Well.....not really, no," Andy admitted. "And let's be honest, the 'Ghost of Christmas Present' sequence is usually the boring part of any Christmas Carol re-telling, what with all the shmaltzy Bob Cratchett and Tiny Tim stuff, so--"

Joker thumped him hard on the back of the head.

"Look, I'm just trying to get through this as quickly as I can because I'm apparently not able to kill anyone in this little segment," he grumbled. "I'm trying to get the point across that good things happen when you post."

"And if I don't post?"

"Well, I hate to leave before the punchline," the Joker said, his smile fading, "but that bit's left to my following act."

"And who's that?"

"*ahem*," coughed a voice behind him. "That would be me."

Andy turned to see the newcomer, blinking his eyes. When he did, the snow-covered streets and windows into other posters' Christmases blinked out of existence, as did the Joker.

Now, all around him was dark, and cold, and empty, like deep within an enormous cavern. Andy shivered despite himself, and saw before him a pale, dark-haired girl in black.

"So you're---......wait, I've never actually played you before. I've only used you as an NPC."

"True, but most of what you've got in store for me is in the future," the girl responded. "Not to mention I'm the only character in your repertoire that matches the appropriate motif for your final vision......"

"I'm Ultimate DC Raven. Or rather, the Ghost of RPGs Future. And this is where it starts to get spooky...."
​

 

[Carnage27]

HA!

Love it, Andy.

*Says that as I work on yet another Captain America post*

 

[Andy C.]

PART IV​

Andy cowered and trembled as the world around him swirled and spun as if caught in a great tumult. Beside him, the Ultimate DC incarnation of Raven, the Ghost of RPGs Future, stood still and calmly.

"We're about to glimpse into what the games may become," she explained. "But I should let you know, this might be....unpleasant."

The swirling vortex of possibilities slowly dissipated, taking solid form.....

"Wh--.....where are we?" Andy stammered. "A hallway? Just an ordinary hallway?"

The corridor that stretched before them seemed unspectacular, off-white walls with a row of office doors on each side, the floor lined with a somewhat ugly carpet, the hallway illuminated by dim fluorescent bulbs that buzzed incessantly.

As they rounded the corner, Raven stopped Andy when she saw two figures approaching.

"We can't be seen here," she said urgently. "This is not a safe place."

They ducked into an empty office, and saw the figures passing by: two police officers. One was a strapping well-muscled blonde man, the other an odd-looking black man with just a hint of an oversized brow.

"So, we're in a police station?" Andy asked.

"Not just any police station," Raven corrected him. "This is the headquarters of the GCPD, the most brutal and corrupt criminal force in Gotham City."

"So who were those guys?" said Andy. "They weren't Gordon or Bullock, or even someone like Flass."

"Sergeant Arthur Curry," Raven gestured to the blonde man. "After Trusty stopped posting, Byrd Man re-imagined him as a corrupt Gotham City beat cop who is an acute hydrophobic and hates fish. With him is Officer John Jones, a.k.a. 'The Martian.' They call him that because he's a rookie, which means he's green, like a Martian. He's not actually a Martian, though; that would be silly and unrealistic."

"Oy," said Andy, rolling his eyes. "But wait, wasn't Aquaman already established in Ultimate DC?"

"Ultimate DC version 2, yes," answered Raven. "But this is Ultimate DC version 3. You stopped posting, and others took your cue. Those who were left, took their fair share of liberties when it came to reimagining things."

Once the coast was clear, Andy and Raven stepped out of the office back into the hallway. While they tried to move carefully, each step they took made a soft crunching noise, as if they were walking on sand.

"What's happened to the floor?" Andy asked as they slogged through a granular soot-like substance. "It's covered in all this grainy stuff."

"That's grit," Raven said. "This new incarnation of DC is grittier than it's ever been. Everyone wallows in it, eats it, breathes it. And everyone who has it into their system becomes a corrupt detective, a drug addict, or some kind of sex freak."

"That sounds ghastly," Andy said, disgusted. "Whoever would willingly do that to their own characters is simply not right in the head."

"Hmph, you're one to talk," quipped Raven. "Considering how much time you spend writing about teenage superheroes and their sex lives. I think you might have some rather serious issues regarding-- oh, look, inside that office."

Inside, a man was tied to a chair with a long length of rope, his face covered in bruises and open wounds. As he openly wept and begged for mercy, a severely muscular woman with her long black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail kicked him hard in the mouth, sending him sprawling down to the floor.

"That poor fellow," Andy lamented.

"That's Snapper Carr," said Raven. "A homeless pedophile rapist and murderer, who used to be a corrupt GCPD detective. He's being worked over by Captain Diana Prince, better known as 'the Amazon,' since she's a bodybuilding man-hating lesbian, and not because she's an actual Amazon--because that would be silly and unrealistic, of course."

"Good Heavens," said Andy, aghast. "So all of the different superheroes now are just corrupt and twisted police officers, I guess to make it all the more impressive when Batman comes in and takes them all down?"

Raven looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Batman?"

"Yes, you know, Batman! The Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight, the most ridiculously over-romanticized superhero of all time, the protector of Gotham City! Bruce Wayne! BATMAN!

"Ohhh, Bruce Wayne," said Raven, picking up on the name. "He's around here somewhere, but I don't think you'd want any help from him. He's got the entire GCPD in his pocket, using them as foot-soldiers for his criminal empire, and using Wayne Industries as a front for his operation of smuggling weapons, drugs, prostitutes, kiddie porn, and everything else that's unpleasant and gritty in and out of Gotham. And anyone that stands in his way, like Lieutenant Dick Grayson or Barbara Gordon, he takes into the back and shoots with the same gun he used to kill his own parents."

Stopping in his tracks, Andy pounded his fist against the wall, shaking a black cloud of grittiness into the air.

"This is stupid!" he protested. "Everything about it is wrong just for the sake of making it wrong!!!"

"I take it you don't care for the mature new re-imaginings?" Raven asked.

"'Re-imaginings?!'" Andy blurted, indignant. "What re-imaginings?! If you completely strip away everything that the established character ever stood for or believed in, then it's not a 're-imagining!' It's just playing a completely different character that just happens to have a familiar name slapped onto it!"

"Keep your voice down!" Raven shushed him. "You don't know who might be listening, especially with that kind of talk! Chief Inspector Clark Kent doesn't like when people question the way things are done here--especially after he had that nosy reporter Lois Lane killed."

"Oh COME ON!!!"

"I'm serious," Raven warned him. "Nothing gets past him here; the other corrupt cops say the way that information gets to him, it's like he has X-Ray vision and super-hearing. Not that Clark Kent actually has any kind of super-powers whatsoever, of course--that would be silly and unrealistic."

"IT'S GODDAMNED SUPPOSED TO BE SILLY AND UNREALISTIC!!!" Andy roared. "The whole point of superhero mythology is that it's escapist fantasy, humanized metaphors for good and evil in technicolor spandex! That's what makes it fun! This, though? This is just The Shield without Michael Chiklis!"

His outburst finished, Andy took in a deep breath.

"Luthor," he finally said. "I always loved playing Luthor. Coming up with crazy world-domination schemes, slowly but surely bringing the plot to a boil before capping it off with a big scene-stealing finale. There's no way I'd let Luthor be part of.....part of this."

Raven closed her eyes and sighed.

"You may want to brace yourself," she said, before putting a hand on Andy's shoulder.

When he opened his eyes, he saw they were now in a vast cemetery, spanning for miles in all directions. The sky was black, tinged with red, and grit fell from the sky like snowflakes.

"Where are we now?" he asked, afraid to know the answer.

"The Character Graveyard," Raven answered. "This is where abandoned characters go when their player leaves. Sometimes, if they're very lucky, another player will pick them up, but most simply wither and die."

Andy looked at the tombstones, reading them by name.

"Nick Fury, One Universe version 1......Bizarro, Ultimate DC version 1......Sonic the Hedgehog, the Multiversers...........Uncle Sam, World of Heroes......"

Among the tombstones, enormous monuments stood high, towering black obelisks with titles engraved into them.

"Ultimate DC version 1.......The Multiversers......Tumbleweed......The Silver Age RPG.......Hype Horrors 2 and 3......All-Star Marvel....."

"It isn't just characters that die when the player leaves," Raven said. "Entire games dry out and fade away. They are laid to rest here as well."

A cold, painful realization swept over Andy.

"All of these characters....they're characters I played! Those games are ones I had a hand in!"

"Yes," said the pale goth girl. "This is your Graveyard. This is where we all go....when you don't post."

Finally, they approached a single, simple tombstone, one that Andy feared more than anything to see.

"No," he said breathlessly. "It....it can't be....."

The epitaph was short:




HERE LIES ULTIMATE DC v3 LEX LUTHOR

KILLED FOR NOT BEING A CORRUPT ENOUGH COP



"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" Andy screamed.

"You didn't post," Raven said sadly. "Nobody did. You, Master Bruce, Sensei, wieg, Keyser.....one by one you all left. Twy locked herself away, waiting for the day she could play Dinah Lance again. Blacklight hanged himself after All-Star Marvel rebooted and his Spider-Man application was beaten out by Byrd Man's re-imagining of Peter Parker as a corrupt detective who never gets bitten by a radioactive spider. And slowly but surely, the games died."

"Answer me this one question!" Andy said, begging on his knees. “Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?”

Still the Ghost of RPGs Future pointed downward to the grave by which she stood.

“Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Andy. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!”

"You're really taking the Scrooge act to heart now, aren't you?" said Raven, backing away from Andy uncomfortably.

"I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!...I will honour the RPGs in my heart, and try to keep them all the year. I will post in the Past, the Present, and the Future! The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

Before Raven could answer, Andy heard a piercing buzz, one that shook the Graveyard around him to pieces........



.....and found himself awake in his bed, the alarm clock sounding.

"Why.....it was all a dream!" Andy exclaimed! "The games haven't died or gone to crap after all!!!"

"Will you keep it down in there?!" his roommate said from the other room. "I'm still trying to sleep!"

"Cram it, dickface!" Andy said joyfully, before leaping out of bed and sitting down at his computer. "Oh, this is a glorious day to live, to love....and to post!"

Andy pulled up the SuperHeroHype forums, and opened the threads.

"Why hello, Ultimate DC version 2! I believe it's time for a new Dick Grayson post! And a Wonder Woman post while we're here! And why not, even a Vandal Savage post!"

His posts written with enthusiasm and joy, he tabbed back into the Comic Books & Genre RPGs Forum.

"And now to post in World's Finest!" he said, beginning yet another post.

Opening up his instant messenger, he sent IMs to each of his fellow Basement Dwellers:

"Merry Christmas, Master Bruce! Season's Greetings, Keyser Soze! Happy Holidays, Spike! Feliz Navidad, Trusty! Yuletide cheer to you, Blacklight! And to you, wiegeabo, and Twylight, and Catman, and Sensei, and Bkhedr, and Carnage, and MST3K, and Supergirl, and NitemareShape, and Watchman, and Bounce, and Mr. Majestic, and Erin, and sumowrestler, and Hound55, and sabetoonth, and Byrd---.........actually, no, not you, Byrd Man. **** you."

And so Andy C. learned the true meaning of the RPGs, and will always keep them in his heart.

God Bless Us. God Bless Us, Every One.

Except You, Byrd.

**** You.

THE END​

 

[Byrd Man]

**** you right back, you son of a *****.

Edit: I also love the message. Oh so subtle.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

That was one of the best things I have ever read on this message board....ever!

Very Well done Andy C.

And Happy Holidays to one and all and your loved ones.

 

[Batman]

Nicely done.

Though the end is a bit too fantastical - I mean, it ends with you actually posting.

 

[Carnage27]

Though the end is a bit too fantastical - I mean, it ends with you actually posting.

It's funny because it's MB saying this.

 

[Andy C.]

The Cave​

The floor is cold and hard. That's the first thing I realize as I regain consciousness. The second thing is the harsh, artificial light that stings my eyelids. Opening my eyes, I see I'm lying in the middle of a sterile white room with a bare concrete floor, lit by bright fluorescent bulbs.

My clothes are gone, replaced by what seems like athletic wear--a tight jumpsuit and light shoes. I see a small cot in one corner, and a toilet and wash basin in the other. There's a single door, a sliding panel with no visible handle or switch.

Last night, I was out......trying to cause trouble. Trying to find the right person to hurt. I needed to do something after what happened. For a moment I think of the faces of my Mom and Dad, my brother and sister.......before I push those thoughts away.

I'll never see any of them again. Crying about it now won't do me any good.

I look everywhere around the room for something I can use, to escape, or at least figure out where I am. Who did this? And why? I'm nothing special, I'm just a carnie. Who could want to--

My train of thought is interrupted by the door sliding open. I spring to my feet, with no idea of what I'm going to do. I could make a run for it, maybe? I could try and fight whoever comes through the door........no, that's probably a bad idea.

Until I find out what's going on, I need to be careful.

"Hey!" I hear a voice shout angrily from outside. "I said HEY! What the hell is this?! I want some damn answers!"

Cautiously I peer through the door, and see another boy about my age, wearing a similar uniform, pacing impatiently in a larger chamber--same concrete floor, same fluorescent lights, only the ceiling seems to be the inside of a cave. He's practically shaking with anger, just begging to throw a punch at someone.

"Hello?" I hear a girl's voice call out. "Is anyone else there?"

I step into the chamber and see a girl, also around my age, her red hair pulled back tight into a ponytail. She's very pretty, almost distractingly so, walking with the kind of floating grace that suggest she's a dancer.

"Does anyone know where we are?" I ask, the angry guy and the pretty redhead turning their attention to me.

"I....I don't know," the girl says, trying to keep a level voice and mask her panic. "I was on my way to the library, and I passed by the old clock tower, and then......then I woke up here."

"Different location, same story," says the guy, punching his hand nervously. "When I find out who did this, I'm gonna--"

"What? You're gonna 'kick his ass?'" asks a third voice, scoffing. Out from the shadows steps a younger boy, maybe twelve years old. "Whoever's doing this, they grabbed us without any trouble. I seriously doubt they'll have much more difficulty with a direct assault. We need to think this through."

"And who asked you, twerp?" the angry guy spits, heading over to the kid to shut him up the hard way.

Before he can reach him, though, I put myself in his way, and get in his face.

"Back off, pal," I warn him. "This isn't a schoolyard, and being a bully isn't going to help."

"Oh yeah?" he snorts. "If you're gonna talk like a big man, you'd better do something to back it up."

He shoves me, and I shove back.

"Guys! Cut it out!" the redheaded girl shouts, trying to get us to separate. "Fighting isn't--"

"Excuse me?" comes the voice of another girl, even younger than the first kid. Her eyes are wide with worry, but obscured by her blonde bangs. "Does anyone know what's happening?"

"Yeah, if you two are done spraying down the floor with testosterone," says yet another guy, his hair spiked up into a fauxhawk, "I think the brainy kid had a point."

He's joined by a teenage girl, Asian by the look of her, who doesn't say a word. She nods silently.

"You're right," I say, stepping away from the hotheaded jerk. "Cooler heads prevail. I'm--"


"I see you're all awake," says a voice, resounding from seemingly everywhere in the chamber. "And you're all wondering why you're here. The short version is you're here because I brought you here. The long version is you're here because I brought you here, because society needs you to be here."

There's a cold strength in the voice, an absolute authority. But at the same time, it sounds......tired.

"Society is crumbling, and few are willing to do anything about it. The forces of good and evil have been at war here for years, and the fact that the good people aren't willing to admit it is why they're on the brink of losing. And in desperate times, I've resorted desperate measures. That's why the seven of you have been drafted."

We all look at each other with uncertainty.

"Each of you has lost something precious to you, something you lost to evil people," the voice continues. "I am offering you the chance to set things right, to prevent others from suffering the way you have. But understand, it will not be easy."

The redheaded girl moves closer to me, holding herself. Uneasily, I put a hand on her back to comfort her. The hothead sneers at it.

"Nobody knows where you are. Nobody is coming to help you. Here, you will be tested to and beyond every limit you have ever known. You will hurt and suffer, you will hate each other, you will hate yourselves, you will hate me. Believe me now, these will be the worst days of your lives. But through it you will become better than you have ever been. Better than anyone has ever been. And you will do so, because you don't have a choice."

The brainy kid scans the chamber, trying to see anything he can use to his advantage. The little girl looks like she's going to cry. The fauxhawk guy tries to stay nonchalant, but can't hide his fear. The Asian girl's doesn't seem to show any emotion.

"I want you to know that I take no pleasure in doing this to you; it's what has to be done," the voice goes on. "But I will not relent. And neither will you, if you know what is good for you. Trust yourselves, and trust each other......but not too much. One of the seven of you is already working for me."

A cold shiver runs down my spine at the thought, and immediately everyone starts looking at each other suspiciously, accusingly.

"What does he mean by that?"

"It means one of you is gonna try and sell me out!"

"What's--"

"Hey, don't look at me! I'm not--"

"What if he's just messing with us?"

"Yeah? And what if you're the one who--"

"CUT IT OUT!" I shout, and everyone goes quiet. "I don't know any of you, and I know you don't know me, so right now none of us has any reason to trust each other. If we're going to get out of here, we need to work together. Whoever the mole is--if there even is one--it just means there's one person we can't trust. It also means that there's six other people that we can trust."

I step forward, extending my hand to anyone who'll take it.

"My name's Dick. Dick Grayson."

After a moment of hesitation, the pretty girl with the red ponytail takes my hand.

"Barbara Gordon," she introduces herself.

The bad-tempered jerk snorts, before reluctantly putting his own hand on top of ours.

"I'm Jason," he says. "Jason Todd."

The brainy kid is next.

"Tim Drake," he says.

The Asian girl puts her hand in the group, but doesn't say anything.

"She doesn't say much," fauxhawk says. "Her name's Cassandra Cain. I go by Terry McGuinness."

The little girl is last, shyly approaching the group before putting her hand in.

"....Stephanie Brown...." she mumbles.

"Welcome to the Cave, children," the voice says. "Welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives."

 

[Batman]

I am intrigued (and even a little aroused).

 

[Andy C.]

That's what you get when you fall asleep after taking a break from your fourth play-through of Arkham City to read Ender's Game.