.|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED ---X------------------------------------------------------------------------- '|` PRESENTS DVANDOM | -. -. -. | ________| ____ \ ,___ \ ____ \ ________| | .' \ | | / ` | | | | | | | / ___| | | | | ` / | | __| | | < | __| | | | ,--- \ \ | | | \ | | \ ` | | | / | \ / | ___| _______-' ___| ____\ -______-' ____________| #43 - Writing Chance Part 1 : Born Yesterday copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen ============================================================================= [cover shows a cracked and faded picture of an unknown superteam, with five of the members in deep shadow and four in the foreground. An eleventh figure is obscured by a gloved thumb, the picture is being held in someone's hand. Cover copy: "At last! The true SECRET ORIGIN of SIG.LAD! Honest this time! No Kidding!"] ============================================================================= In Sig.ago, many months had passed since the CheeeZeppelin had reappeared at its mooring post downtown, and to the amazement of the residents, those months had passed quietly. Well, not exactly *quietly,* really. Better to say they passed in a way that was no more eventful than the residents of the Spammy City were used to. No giant robots marching down the street, no alien invasions (that anyone noticed, anyway) and no highly destructive superhero battles. This last was considered a good thing, since the city's Abandoned Warehouse District wasn't up to code for such a large city, and it took all of that "free time" to expand it properly, as well as move all important businesses outside a three block radius of the Dvandom Force HQ. As was customary for the area around superhero headquarters, space in those buildings was rented out at bargain rates to aspiring stuntmen and disaster-relief specialists, for the plentiful opportunities at practicing their trade. A sort of secondary economy sprang up in the neighborhood, as these jaded thrillseekers set up restaurants, laundromats, comic shops and other such necessary businesses to support the residents of the very-probably-doomed buildings. Hey, it worked. And between issues the tourist trade was quite brisk, too. The locals joked that the biggest danger to the area's safety was posed by weekend tourists from RAC.ine. They were right, of course, but that's something for the *next* arc. Um, drat. I seem to have written myself into an expositionary corner. "Getcher plot bridges! Two-fifty plain, three bucks with cheeez!" shouted a nearby vendor. Gotta love this secondary economy. Here's three bucks, dude. "Sure thing, mister. See that store? It's being shaken down by the Little Man's goons...whydontcha sic some of your heroes on them?" Great idea. I've been meaning to get to the Little Man dangler eventually, anyway. Down the street, two figures shifted in their heavy winter-lining trenchcoats which didn't quite hide their spandex outfits from normal view, but since when to people have normal view in this kinda story? Anyway, they shifted uncomfortably because it was a rather warm mid-February and they were quite overdressed. "So, you heard the plot-vendor?" asked one. "Yep. Good thing the author forked out the extra fifty cents, I've been looking for some action," replied the other. With that, Sig.Lad and Cheeez Arrow threw off their trenchcoats (hey, CA's rich, he can afford to clothe a few locals in this impromptu fashion) and dashed into the indicated store. A few loud sound effects and a rather nauseated "Uuurgh!" later (what, you think I'm wasting exposition on a fight scene with thugs? Riiiiight), Sig.Lad was tying up the thugs and Cheeez Arrow was apologizing to the store owner for getting Limbaugher (a particularly noxious cheeez) on him. "Okay, punk," threatened Sig.Lad, "Who's the Little Man, and where is he?" "Yeah, right," the goon (no, not that kind) mocked. "Like I'm gonna be scared by a candy-ass sooperhero with little antennae sticking out of his forehead." "Eh?" Sig.Lad felt at his forehead. Sure enough, the antennae he manifested as Sig.Roach were starting to sprout. "Whoa, musta gotten angrier than I thought," he muttered as he willed them to disappear. The gunsel's reaction was to snicker. Cheeez Arrow looked over and did a doubletake. "Um, Sig.Lad, shouldn't you wait until after we have some information before playing Sig.lock?" "Damn. These months of inactivity must have me out of shape. Still," he picked up the mook with one hand as he took off the deerstalker cap, "that doesn't mean I can't backhand you around the block, scumpuppy." "Da Little Man's bigger'n you'll ever be, ya big red cheeez. And ya can't stretch yer arms long enough ta exceed his reach!" The (damn, I'm running out of synonyms) criminal's remark made Sig.Lad realize his arm was now twice as long as normal and he was pressing the punk against the ceiling. Disgusted, he tossed the, um, malefactor down with a parting warning. "Just tell your boss we're looking for him. And he *doesn't* want our attention." Not giving his verbal sparring partner time to engage in less-than-witty repartee, Sig.Lad stormed out, Cheeez Arrow on his heels. Once they had gotten out of sight around the corner, Sig.Lad slowed to a normal pace. "So, tag them both?" he asked. "Yep," beamed Stan. "My special radioactive tracer Cheeez is all over them, we should be able to track them from HQ anywhere within ten miles, twenty miles if they stay upwind. Quick thinking, Sam...it's certainly preferable to letting Kat try and get the information out of them. Um, so...." "So...?" "Was that little display of losing control intentional, to give the Little Man a false impression of our being not at our best?" "I wish. I *hope* it's just being out of practice, and not my powers destabilizing again. I'd rather not have to choose between my health and leaving the Sword of .Sig where it is, defending all of reality against the return of the Multiversal Office Building [left there in Constellation #16 - Ed]. Let's get back to the HQ, maybe I can get Doc Stomper on teleconference and run a few tests." * * * * "How's it going, SM?" greeted Kid Macro. "Where've ya been lately?" "A limited series, I think," replied the Deepsea Detective. "Hasn't been written yet, you'll know what happened once it did, since you'll probably have guest-shotted in at least one issue." "Gah, I'm *still* not used to the way time works here." "I'm a founder, and I'm not always comfortable with it, really. Anyway, be on the lookout, it might be set after this issue too...still in the planning stages. Where's Sig.Lad?" "On the vidphone with Doctor Stomper, running some kind of tests. I overheard something about 'instability' or something. Not like any of us are stable if we're in this job." Sidewinder stepped into the hall on hearing the conversation. "Sig.Lad destabilizing? Damn!" "Buh? Hey, where did you come from? Last issue you were still stuck on RL-1!" claimed Kid Macro. "Well, yeah, I woke up in Colum.bus (as opposed to Columbus) and rode out here back in December. Guess the writer got lazy and decided to just say I was back here [Um, yeah. - Ed]. See? Anyway, if Sig.Lad's destabilizing, that could be Very Bad. Last time it happened was back in the Electrocutioner's Song, when the Golden Age Acton Lord, disguised as me, zapped him with something and then stuffed him in a teleporter/gene-scrambler device at the LNHQ." "What was the LNH doing with a teleporter/gene-scrambler device?" demanded Kid Macro. Sidewinder shrugged. "Hey, it had been moved out of the Plot Device room by the prop guys when they were setting up the issue. These things happen. Let's go see if we can offer some moral support in case he's really falling apart again." "And maybe Kat can come along and offer amoral support," Cheeez Arrow quipped. "I heard that!" echoed a voice from another room. "Eep!" * * * * The mood was somber in the infirmary. The rest of Dvandom Force (except for Bludwulf, who was busy tending the penguin) had gathered during Doc Stomper's remote examination, and their faces reflected the bad news. "Damn...looks like I'm falling apart again," said Sig.Lad, breaking the silence. "Well, look on the bright side. At least you're not being stupid and keeping this to yourself for a dozen or more issues, letting yourself fall apart when we could be looking for a cure," Squidman noted. "So, do we go to the Multiversal Office Building to get you a Sword of .Sig booster?" Kopikat asked. "The risk is great, and the benefits in the end are none, for events have conspired to render that avenue useless to you, Sig.Lad," came a voice from the shadowed corner of the otherwise brightly-lit room. "But more you cannot say, for you are a Stranger, right?" smirked Rotanna, who apparently didn't care for the kind of hidden-motive mummery employed by the trenchcoater. "You are wrong, Rotanna. A Stranger I still am, yes. But more I *must* say, for Sig.Lad's fate is a consequence of my actions in a former life, and I have known always that one day I would be called upon to make amends for them. Now, I will try to pay back part of that debt. "You see, Sig.Lad, it is not you who have changed this time, it is the nature of reality. In following Netlurker's desperate plan to save reality, you may have doomed yourself...the Multiversal Office Building, while in a quiescent state, is still alive. And in the restructuring shuffle required to accomodate the infinity of new PluRealities created by Acton Lord, the Sword of .Sig was carried 'farther' away from the Looniverse. The magicks within it that stabilized you were expended far more quickly once it had to project them over a greater interdimensional 'distance.' The enchantment placed upon it by Merlin that helped you, while once powerful enough to last your entire life, was drained in mere months. So, even were you to seek the Sword out, it can no longer help you. Merlin himself is a capricious being, and now that you have fulfilled the wyrd he placed on you, he may no longer feel obliged to help you. Thus, it is important that you know your true origins, that you might have a chance to cure yourself in the event the mage refuses to help...or is unable to." "Wait, I thought I was created from whole cloth by the Dvandom Dial, back when you were Dial "D" for Dvandom!" protested Sig.Lad. "In fact, the whole Bellerophon Gambit was necessary to fix that origin up post-Cry.Sig!" The Stranger shifted uncomfortably, even though his trenchcoat was the proper weight for the weather. "The Dvandom Dial was powerful, but not all- powerful, Sig.Lad. It prefers to take beings who have been forgotten or retconned away and revamp them, instead of creating 'from whole cloth,' as you put it. Your background is tied in with that of the Net.astic Nine, a group that has undergone so many retcons and time travel paradoxes that few even remember their existence anymore. Let the sands of time be sifted with a spatula and the story emerge...." * * * * MR. THINGY'S PERSONAL JOURNAL Entry #154 The team was still reeling from the loss of over half our members at the hands of the mysterious alien cyborg IMPLO [See Net.astic Nine #150, "Doom of the Net.astic NONE!" - Dizzy Dave], and when Net.usa came to us for aid, I suppose we can't be blamed for not noticing the possible drawback of adding this former net.villain to our ranks, even temporarily. But I'm getting ahead of myself. This morning I once more used the Memory.thingy in an attempt to restore the time-lost knowledge of our former teammates. In traveling back from the 26th Century where we had liberated the world from the clutches of DeFacto V, we encountered a reality storm of severity almost unknown to us...and we've experienced some fairly powerful reality storms in our brief careers. The center of the reality storm was a being named IMPLO, who sought to erase us from existence and partly succeeded. We know we had five more members once, but none of us can even recall their names to grieve for them. After the session with the Memory.thingy, I was called to the roof by the security systems, where I was joined by my three surviving teammates, The Thingy, The Walking Argument and The !Visible Woman...my wife. Upon the roof was a lone figure, one known to us from many previous battles: Net.usa. It was obvious she wasn't there to fight, and I restrained Bob from attacking her. Apparently she had had amnesia for the last several years, and had been tricked into fighting alongside the Spamful Seven by MUDWizard's wiles. But after our last encounter [Net.astic Nine #123, "The Spamful Seven's Spacial Spoilers!" - Dusty Dave] her memory had begun to return, and now she knew her heritage as one of the Net.humans, a lost branch of humanity possessed of wondrous powers. So we accepted her as a probationary member over Jack's objections. Leave it to The Walking Argument to object to something. But the Spamful Seven wasn't about to lose one of their own to something as trifling as a change of heart.... * * "I'm so grateful you could look past my former deeds and help me, Mr. Thingy." "Please, Net.usa, we're all friends here. You can call me Fred, or Mr. Franklins if you're not comfortable with my first name. And as long as we're making introductions, The !Visible Woman is my wife, Florence Flame- Franklins...." "Call me Flo." "Her kid brother Jack Flame is our own Walking Argument...." "Bite me." "Um, yes. Ignore his outbursts if you can, it *is* his power. And finally, The Thingy also sometimes goes by Bob Grunion in public." "Yeah, like I can go out in public with a face like this! When're ya gonna come up with some kinda cure.thingy ta fix my ugly puss, eh genius?" "Pleased to know you as more than foes. But...aren't there nine of you? Where are the others? And why can't I remember who they are?" "We...don't know either, Net.usa. We...lost...them in the timestream a few days ago and many years in the future." "I'm...sorry to hear that. Perhaps my people could help you find them? We have many forgotten sciences and data-retrieval methods available to us, left by our race's creators, the |<-r33. It is said they existed on the earliest days of BBSes and know much that has been lost." "Perhaps...Blue blazes! We're under attack!" "It's those crummy Spamful Seven...and I see they brought Line-Lag Lou along!" "It's the Sapster now, Thingy! And my speed-sapping devices are even more potent than before, as you can feel for yourself!" "Moving...slower...but...not...so...slow...I...can't...do...this!" "ARGH! My ears! Clapping his hands together with supersonic force is making me...black...out...!" "The fool disobeyed my orders to hang back. Still, I, the MUDWizard and my companions still match you in numbers...and we more than overmatch you in talent!" "The day The Walking Argument's outclassed by a goon like you is the day I let Bob win an argument! And I see you still wear stupid hats!" "No! I will not let myself be drawn into your kind of fight, Flame! Scanned Man, Captain Netcom...deal with that fool!" . o O ( Must act fast, before Jack's overwhelmed! ) "Say, Captain Netcom, have you seen the latest list of newgroups? Looks like a nice crop of well- thought-out groups, even in alt.*!" "You won't get me that easily, Mr. Thingy! Wait, did you say alt.*? Well, maybe just a peek...AIE! No! That name makes SENSE! " "Drat! Two of my forces downed, and none of yours even scratched! But what is this? A child wandering conveniently onto the battlefield as if by Act of Plot!" "No, MUDWizard! Don't harm Richard...he's done nothing to you! This is our fight!" "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! But he *has* done something to me! He's given me an idea! Now, let Alt.chemist and Baron Umlaut combine their powers to wrap him in unbreakable bonds!" "Yes! I call upon the Neon Noodles of Net.torak to bind the child of our foe until death does he part!" "And I, the mighty Alt.chemist, do reinforce the bonds with the most potent of elemental Threads!" "NOOOOOO! Richard!" "Don't lose your head, Flo! Project a !visible force field around our son, to keep the bonds from crushing him!" "Ya bum! Attackin' a kid ta get whut ya want!" "And get it I will, Thingy. You will turn Net.usa over to us, Mr. Thingy, or your son will die as soon as The !Visible Woman tires and lets her concentration slip!" "Fred...." "I know, Flo. But can we hold our son's life over that of Net.usa's? Who knows what they'll do to her once they find she's no longer evil? We'll just have to find a way to save our son without betraying her trust." "Yes, but if only she hadn't been knocked out by a piece of debris off- panel, she might do something self-sacrificingly heroic?" "Perhaps. And perhaps she would have surrendered herself only for us to find the foul villains going back on their word...not that they have given their word to let Richard live. NO DEAL, YOU MADMAN!" "Yeah, geddoudahere before I tear yer guts out thru yer noses!" "Empty threat, Thingy. We shall have our wayward member back, Mr. Thingy. And in the meantime, it will warm my heart to know your own flesh and blood was crushed to a pulp...and it was ALL YOUR FAULT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Come, gather up Sapster and Netcom and let us away!" "Now what, oh fearless leader! You gonna let my little coz get mooshed over your damned principals?" "Quiet, Jack, I need to think. Wait...it's a slim chance, and untested at that, but it might be just the thing!" "What, darling? I can't hold this much longer...." "It's something I've been researching in an attempt to give myself inborn powers, the result of a pre-WWII research project foiled by agents of Schwa Khan [See "Deadly Coincidences" by Sue D'Nimme for the classic tale to which Fred Franklins refers! - Dippy Dave]. The Super Molder Serum! It would give Richard the ductile qualities needed to escape these bonds. But...." "But what? And why haven't you used it yourself yet?" "It's unstable, Jack. He might become a puddle of goo and never reform." "Yeah, well, he's gonna be a puddle a' goo in any case pretty soon, so go get th' stuff!" "Yes, Bob...it's the only choice. I only hope he can someday forgive me...." * * * * "Ow. Did people ever really talk like that?" asked Kid Macro, clutching his head. "No. But comicbook characters used to, all the time," replied Squidman. "Wait. Let me get this straight...my real name is Richard Franklins, son of Mr. Thingy and the !Visible Woman, and I got my original automutation powers from the Super Molder Serum?" "Correct, Sig.Lad. You spent your childhood as a perpetual four year old trapped in a suit of plastic armor which maintained your structural integrity. Some time during those years you came in contact with the primal Sig.Force as the result of an experiment performed by your father, but you quickly erected psychic barriers preventing you from using it at its full potential, given the sheer power of the .Sig and your youthful inability to limit yourself to a power level that would be interesting to read about...a limit you only recently managed to establish [Constellation #7 - Ed]. In order to let you stay in the story once you had been pulled from Retcon Limbo by the Dvandom Dial, you were given a mild resistance to Retcon Energy by the Dial." "Which explains why I could do things like remember Kid Macro during times he didn't exist in Retcon Hour." "Among other things, yes," acknowledged the Stranger. "And why you remembered the Net.astic Nine. In fact, although most LNHers are aware of the thingy.thingy technology, only a scant handful know its origin, such as the Kirbian. But, as I mentioned, the Dial is not all-powerful, and it could not remove the inherent instability of the Super Molder Serum, it could only temporarily stabilize you. With the first serious assault on your genetic integrity during the Electrocutioner's Song, the Serum's design flaws reasserted themselves full force. The Sword of .Sig offered amelioration of the symptoms, but not a true cure." "Do you know the cure?" Kat asked, perhaps a bit more earnestly than she intended to. "Yes, but I cannot reveal it to you, for that would be in abrogation to my Stranger's Oath to preserve the Drama of the Story. You have had first-hand experience with the dangers of violating this principle..." he trailed off ominously. Everyone thought of Constellation's actions in the Baron Umlaut case. "Hey, on the subject of Umlaut," interrupted Rotanna, "where did he get the power to invoke entities like Net.torak? I knew him during that time, he never had the knack for magic." The Stranger simply held his silence, but Squidman broke in. "I don't think the Stranger wants to reveal that yet. Maybe Umlaut was sandbagging around Schwa Khan and your father...maybe he lost those powers in a side-effect retcon associated with the Net.astic Nine. Or maybe the writer just decided that 'Baron M.org.o' just didn't cut it as a name [Hey, stop that! - Writer]. Anyway, since he was released from custody on lack of evidence, we'll probably find out soon enough." "Indeed. Now my debt is discharged, and I must be away to continue my lonely duties on the cold threads of the Net...for I am ever a STRANGER." Smirking as he managed to sneak his line in uninterrupted, he vanished into the shadows, shadows which themselves vanished in turn, leaving the room bright again. * * * * Beneath the surface of Andale Atoll, a single figure brooded dramatically. And since there's only one figure residing on the Atoll tall enough to brood dramatically, it was obviously Acton Lord. He fumed silently at the foiling of his plans. His former employee Netlurker had neatly nipped his plan in the bud...and it was *who* foiled it more than it *being* foiled that annoyed the master manipulator. His intention had been to draw in the cosmic net.powers to prevent the damage to the Looniverse, at least one of whom he could then corrupt and gain immense personal power from. Still, there had been other side-effects of the plan that did not displease him. The wedge driven between the LNH and one of its few mystics by the Green Trenchcoat's participation in his plans was certainly beneficial to any future plans. The less magick arrayed against him, the easier it would be to succeed...it was something he still did not fully understand, and therefore it was hard to guard against. And then there was that personally satisfying side-effect, which his gradgnomes should be confirming any minute now.... "Boss! Boss! We have communication intercepting from LNHQ to Dvandom Force, is to be confirming reports of Little Man's agents. Destabilizing is Sig.Lad, from Super Molder Serum!" "Thank you, Jameel. That will be all." "But...?" "But, don't I want to launch an all-out effort to find a cure for this destabilization, since I'm just a future alternate version of Sig.Lad and might get the syndrome myself? A cure that I could then dangle over Sig.Lad's head to taunt him, only to have him heroically snatch it away from me?" "Well, yes." Acton Lord threw his head back and let loose a hearty, villainous laugh which cleared his head and made him feel all evil inside. "But, Jameel, why would I ever want to find a cure for being me? In that eternity in the echo server, I fully destabilized...and in embracing my own corruption, I abandoned the Sig.Force and became linked to an even more puissant power source, that of corruption itself! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...!" The laughter echoed for an eternity.... ============================================================================== NEXT ISSUE: Part 2 of Writing Chance, "Born Ready!" Sig.Lad starts his quest for a cure, traveling across time and dimension! -- Neddie: Sergeant Eccles, inspect my firearm! Eccles: Goody, goody, dis is fun. Let's see...five bullets in da magazine, one bullet in da barrel, and one in me 'ead.