by Grover Young
“Entertainment material created for sexual gratification?” He asked for clarification, but was still confounded.
“Our so scary Pantheon quantum warrior, when he transforms, changes gender and has exaggerated feminine sexual characteristics that are just this side of being indecent,” she giggled, but her arm around my waist told me this was in fun.
Glancing at the faces peering at me from the windows, okay, maybe it wasn't fear they were feeling. Hell, I would rather it be fear than what I had a pretty good idea of what it really was.
The Sha'leian stared at Halcyon, me. Then, he began this trilling harmonic that didn't take much imagination to think of it as laughter. The echo from inside suggested that Tash had lost it as well, laughing at the big bad Child of Prometheus.
Feeling more than a little peeved at this, I folded my arms across my chest which, of course, meant maneuvering around my 'mountains' which set Sheila to giggling again. I kept myself from sighing, knowing that would cause those protuberances to be even more annoying as they jiggled and bounced. Hell, not so long ago just a small part of this would've had me going to pieces.
Ralt managed to get his twittering laugh under control, but the sounds from inside said that Tash hadn't come close to stopping his own mirth.
“How is this possible?” he shook his head in disbelief or denial, “We see nothing but the most horrible monsters and yet those of your race become this? However, you are also so powerful you smash our assaults aside like they were made by mere fledglings.”
Looking at the curious faces in the window and at poor Sheila starting to shiver in the cold, I sighed. My quest for solitude was over, so we might as well make everything easy and go inside.
“Why don't we move this back where it's warm?” I gestured to the door while answering. “Well for one, nobody knows if the universe where your monsters come from is the same as the one we tap for Prometheus.” I reasoned it out, “We do have some guesses, but that's all they are.
“Being like this,” I waved my hand at Halcyon's body, “it and others of Pantheon are very much like characters from a genre of our fiction. The changes and the powers could've come right out of the media we call comic-books.”
“It is the same universe,” Tash replied, as we came in, “The way the quantum drive malfunctions. It has to connect to the highest energy state source.”
I nodded, making a mental note to remember that tidbit. Doc Schneider would be very interested in this stuff.
“Tell me how, in this other world that your people are like … this and not the monsters my people are?” his laughter gone, Ralt was, the only word that came to mind, haunted. Nobody wanted to think of themselves as bad or evil much less their whole race.
No one else said anything, so I guessed it was up to me.
“Well,” I began, “let me tell you about the universe we think Halcyon comes from. It all started when a pair of good Jewish boys, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster created the forefront of what would be known as the Golden Age of comics. Let me tell you about a character called Superman.”
Epilogue: Far away in another Universe.
In a truly infinite universe, all things are possible. However, some things are more likely than others. The many worlds’ interpretation of quantum mechanics took it a step further. Every possibility and choice we make branches out into a new world, limitless and beyond count.
Grey Wolf stepped through the sundered museum doors. No alarms had gone off, and neither had any of the guards given a warning. None of that was a good thing. The problem was, the Hawkmoon Museum, while it did house a few rare archeological finds, did not have much in the way of priceless treasures with the possible exception of a few dedicated collectors. Every item had also been vetted by the Mystics Guild just to make sure there was nothing more dangerous on those stone steles and tablets than grocery lists and public notices.
Perhaps one of those collectors did pay a thief to acquire such an item, but usually, professionals were much more subtle than tearing doors off their hinges, although the timing was perfect. Late on Thanksgiving night, the police were more worried about Black Friday retailers and shoppers than a rather esoteric museum like the Hawkmoon. However, the matter of the silence of the guards was also troubling, given a thief did not want to give law enforcement an excuse to use deadly force.
No, this suggested something else was afoot which was why he'd called for help from the local Protectors Bureau branch office. Dealing with the government sponsored heroes was always a pain where the sun never shines, but the way his guts were twisting, he had that bad feeling.
However, that did not stop him from cautiously scouting the crime scene. Grey had no intentions on engaging, but he did want to get as many clues as he could about what this was about.
Crouching by the first guard, his fingers found no pulse, dead. From the position of the body the poor man had no chance at all. His weapon lay nearby, unfired. Whatever had struck him, had done so with the force of a truck, killing the man instantly.
Grey's wolf totem's gift of keen senses told him that this was the probable fate of the other guards as well. The scent of death rode heavy in the air. That pushed the threat level way up. While his totem gave him superior strength, speed and other gifts, what had killed these guards had hit all of them at once, faster than any of them could react. He was good, but not that good.
Almost he stopped right there, but if these murders were that fast then they just might be long gone before the government capes could arrive. With a sigh, he decided he just had to get close enough for his 'wolf' to see what was going on. Besides, if he was good at nothing else, it was stalking.
What he found turned his blood to ice. Before him, searching a selection of Babylonian stone tablets, were six figures. Five were tall metallic humanoids with the perfection that only came from deliberate sculptured care. It was the sixth that froze him like a deer caught in the headlights.
Dressed in an old fashioned tweed suit he could've been the stereotypical college professor, but the accompanying animated statues told another story. Every hero knew of the Golem Master. The scholar turned psychotic Nazi hunter had lost his focus since so very few war criminals were still alive. The murderer had expanded his attention to anyone wearing a Nazi swastika. Droves of White Supremacists had died at the hands of the animated magical statues created by the insane intellectual. Not that those had been his only victims. Anyone getting in his way tended to end up dead, including heroes trying to stop the slaughter or even the innocent family members of the supremacists.
Honestly, Grey didn't lose much sleep over the deaths of those hate mongers, but the women, children and others who'd died just by being in the wrong place did. The Golem Master took what he wanted, be it scholarly texts or just the materials to make his unstoppable monsters. Rumor had it that hero and villain alike had died, sacrificed by this madman to bring his creations to life.
Grey was so out of his league it wasn't even worth mentioning. Those golems had defeated whole teams of heroes and, while it might seem so simple to just knock out their master, it was not. The golems protected him at all costs. Even if you did manage to get by them, they would kick your ass before carrying out their last order and then escaping with their master.
In the rare instances where a golem had been destroyed, the Golem Master would only show back up a few months later with a new one after yet another hero or villain had gone missing. It was no coincidence that the creation would exhibit the powers of the missing cape.
However, Grey had noticed the displays were marked. If he could mark just what area they were looking at, that might help narrow down what the Golem Master was looking for. Maybe he couldn't stop the insane scholar's scheme, but perhaps he could aid others who could go toe to toe with those mystical constructions.
Daring to creep forward, using all the cunning his wolf gave him, he got a clearer view. The old man was browsing the stone fragments of the old writings as if at a yard sale, m
uttering to himself and talking to his silent golems.
“No, it's not this one either, Ebony,” The mad scholar confided to his golem, “This is only a tally of grains.”
“Why thank you, Kaspit,” he told the animated silver statue, “I think this is the one!”
Grey risked peeking to try see just what the 'one' was that'd been found.
Immediately, chimes like those from a music box rang out from the mad scholar’s automatons.
“My, it seems we have an unwanted spectator,” The Golem Master looked up at Grey, “Lapis Lazuli take of this. After he's defeated, dispose of the body in the river.”
Wolves might be predators, but they know when to flee. He was running and dodging around the displays to make it harder for the golem to reach him. A crash behind him shook the whole Hawkmoon Museum. That suggested that its master had departed, taking the shortest route through the wall. Now it was only the two of them, Grey and golem.
All he had to do was buy time for the Protectors to get here.
He bounced off of the golden automaton as it appeared from nowhere, cutting off his escape. Twisting in the air to land more or less on his feet, Grey didn't waste a moment trying to attack it. Nothing he could do would so much as slow it down. Alpha list heroes had tried and failed. He very much doubted a 'B' rater like him could better their attempts.
In his element, Grey was very good against trained and armed criminals. Even those who had powers and used them creatively to great effect had reason to be wary of him. However, those who routinely threatened the safety and security of the whole world were a little of out his league. Save the city yes, the world, not so much.
Out of reflex, he flung his 'wolf's claw' shurikens at the golem. The trio of razor sharp throwing stars sank deep into the animated golden statue. The cold emerald gems it had for eyes just looked at him as its body expelled his weapons. With a clatter, his wolf 'claws' rang as they hit the floor as the entry points sealed over, leaving not so much as a mark.
Like a pile driver, its hand shot out, slamming into his torso. If he hadn't rolled with the blow, it surely would've broken something. As it was, Grey felt as if he'd been hit by a car, as he tumbled to the floor. At the very least, his ribs were bruised.
Struggling to get to his feet, he braced himself for another blow.
“Are you defeated?” It asked the voice sounding like it came from a music box.
“I'm not dead yet!” he growled, despite knowing this thing was just a construction of the darkest magic.
Its foot kicked out, lifting him completely off the floor, but he was able to twist enough to land on his feet. Grey took off running as fast as his injury would allow. That was good. The bad was that his arm had absorbed much of that kick, and he feared it was broken.
“Sonofabitch!” He grunted as he collided with it again. The damn thing was nearly a speedster, the way it kept moving to block him. Worse, running into it was like slamming into a wall, but this time he hit his already injured arm.
Before he could fall, the golem's golden hand grabbed him by the shoulder.
His wolf so wanted to bite and claw at the reason for the pain, but Grey knew he had to escape.
“Are you defeated?” It asked again in that musical voice.
“Go to hell!” Grey gritted teeth.
Lean like his totem spirit, he kicked, not to hurt it which was impossible, but to get leverage to twist free. Failing, he was surprised when the golden automaton threw him one handed through the open doors like he was no more than an unweaned pup.
Clutching his damaged arm protectively, he rolled with the impact after sailing over the stairs of the Hawkmoon's entrance. Bouncing to a stop on the sidewalk, he grunted from the pain.
Looking up, Grey saw the golden form floating through the torn open doors. Rather than descend the stairs, she glided over the top of them to slow to a hover above him.
“Are you defeated?” She asked yet again.
He was beginning to feel he was missing something. Considering he was getting his butt kicked anyways, he didn't have much to lose.
“Yes,” his wolf spirit growled in protest.
As a reply, she picked him up, being surprisingly gentle. With a whoosh, she covered the half mile to the river in only seconds.
“Aw hell!” He cursed, as she dropped him into the cold water.
With just one good arm he feared he would sink, being dressed in his padded hero gear, but he actually hit the muddy river bottom. It'd put him in the shallows, near the bank.
Cold, wet and hurting he made his way to the shore. Wondering where his attacker had gone to, he turned to search, but found its face right in front of his.
Even in the wan light from the bridge that wasn't that far away, he could see her sculpted golden complexion and its deep blue hair and lashes looked nearly black. It was the eyes that made him double take. How had he ever thought them cold and expressionless? The emeralds in front of him blazed with life and passion.
“Grey Wolf should drop out of sight,” it, no, her voice sang, “if 'he' suspects you're still alive, he'll send me back with more explicit instructions to do what he intended instead of only what he said.”
“Do you understand?” she asked, “because if you don't, both of us will regret it.”
“I understand,” Grey replied, confused. The golems were supposed to be nothing more than magically created robots. It was the 'why' he didn't get.
She only nodded before zooming off into the night sky.
Staring after her, he muttered to himself, “What the hell just happened?”
Pulling himself the rest of the way out of the river, he headed to the van he used as a mobile headquarters. Until he had a lot better information, Grey Wolf was going to stay out of sight, playing dead. However, that didn't mean he was dropping this. He'd learned early in his hero career that research and preparation could win battles that courage and brawn couldn't.
Turning and looking one last time in the direction she'd flown, he asked the starry night sky, “Who are you Lapis Lazuli?”
Christmas is a time of giving and a celebration of family. It is also the time that Washington crossed the Delaware, the Battle of Trenton. The Tet Offensive began on New Year’s Eve. The Ardennes Counter offensive, better known as Battle of the Bulge kicked off the week before Christmas. And our unfriendly visitors have been studying human history …!
The End of the World: The Last Christmas
A sequel to the Last Thanksgiving
by
Grover
11/29/2019
Zap! Crack!
I cringed away from the crazed man with the taser.
“Doc!” I looked for an escape route off the examination table, “What are you doing with that thing?”
“Relax,” Doc Schneider replied, still holding the hand held taser, “this isn't lethal.”
“You're not reassuring me here, Doc!” I crept to the edge of the table.
Calling for help would be a waste of time. Dr. Loren Schneider was the lead researcher here at the Camp Mackall Prometheus Center. While they didn't run the Prometheus Engine here anymore, this was where they did all the volunteers' testing and evaluations.
Doc was about my height, but he was skinny as a rail. His salt and pepper hair and mustache had always reminded me of a cross between Larry from the Three Stooges and Albert Einstein. Not that I would ever consider fighting him.
After that first full power run of the Prometheus Engine on us, the freshman group of volunteers, it'd been me who'd dragged the infernal device and him out of harms' way. The Sha'leians didn't at all like the uses we were putting their captured tech to. While they didn't react to our using their quantum engines, using that damaged drive got their attention big time, and I don't mean in a good way.
A full-fledged company of a hundred 'bots and drones had dropped right on top of us, along with a real live in the flesh alien invader. Most of my fellow volunteers had been slaughtered, along
with more than a few of Doc's fellow scientists and techs. We'd never been sure exactly how many of us Prometheus's children had been born or rather reborn during that first run up, since the invaders had killed everyone who couldn't run away fast enough.
Predictably, I hadn't melted down until afterward, when I got a chance to notice I'd turned into a seven foot tall walking, pornographic golden statue. The handful of others who had also escaped had included two others who had received the Gift. They'd gone through the testing and evaluation and later became the first graduates of the Pantheon Program's R course, sometimes called 'Robot-demolition 101.'
Meanwhile, I had huge problems dealing with what I'd become. Let me tell you, I don't know how women put up with it. Code name Halcyon, due to my other 'me' complexion and hair color which was vaguely the same as that Kingfisher from Greek legends, she had a figure that was as exaggerated as any woman heroine ever drawn in the comic-books.
In short, while transformed, I was a walking wet-dream and lustful stares followed me wherever I went. It was difficult enough for me just to change so radically, but to be lusted after was the straw that broke the camel’s back, shoulder, arm and every other part I can think of.
All I can say is it's a damn good thing the Prometheus transformation was only temporary. Once a Child of Prometheus, always a Child, but to change into your Gifted form after that first time required some help, the Q-Box.
It's just this cell phone sized box that, along with some internal gizmo's, somehow helps trigger the change. I hadn't the slightest idea of how, but it did work. The Box also held the timer that estimated how much time you could stay transformed and the controls for Pantheon Special Forces trooper's uniform, Skins.
The tough, flexible, smart fabric was a necessity since it could stretch with the change and still provide an impressive amount of protection. Using the controls on the Q-Box, it could mirror the surrounding environment, making it the ultimate in camouflage.
However, the downside was it looked like a damn fetish catsuit that gave new meaning to skin tight. Once upon a time, I had looked like the Pillsbury dough boy in my Skins, which caused me no end of embarrassment. Being old and fat was bad enough, but having to wear a uniform that displayed that unpleasantness to everyone, just plain sucked.