🚀 go-pugleaf

Prologue

     He was falling, using the only escape possible for him now.  He
shot through a glowing tunnel, with the destination a distance ahead
and glowing almost blindingly.
     <Don't go into the light,> he chuckled to himself.
     <We won't.>
     He whirled, finally noticing the second figure following him.
<How'd you get here?>
     <I held on and prayed.  Cute, huh?>  The figure smirked.  <Thanks
for the ride.  This is kind of nice.  I mean, it sucks being dead, but
I can fix that.>
     <You're not getting away again.>
     <Yeah, yeah, yeah.  How do you intend on stopping me?  This place
isn't physical, whatever it is.  And I'm the one with the experience
in the mental ballpa...>
     Both figures froze as they emerged into the main room.  For the
aid of your imagination, take a baseball stadium and stand in the
center of the field.  Fill the bleachers with big screen tv's, all on
different channels and at maximum volume.  Then do the same with the
field, carefully positioning the televisions so that each time you
look past one, the only other thing to see is another.  Then put a
wall of televisions on the dome that we're assuming this stadium has.
Pick up everything you've set down on the field to put a similar wall
to coat the ground.  Remove your sense of three dimensionality, so
that it's hard to tell which television is in front of which.  Then
work things out so that every other sense you have is stimulated like
this.  Shake well.  Serves two.
     Neither figure had eyes to close, ears to cover, tongue to numb,
fingers to pocket, or nose to plug.  There was nothing but the
pounding sensations that made up their new world.  The second figure
screamed from his mind and fled randomly into the chaos around them.
The first tried turning back to the tunnel, but it was gone now.  The
only things left where the visions and memories...
     He did the mental equivilant of curling into a fetal position,
gathering his resources and trying to hold on as long as he could.
But the visions were eating into his mind, overloading thought and
wrecking sanity.  The only things he could do were hope, and pray...


                                 <*>

                       The Series With No Name
                                 #14

                           Multiple Views

                              Starring:
                         A few random people

                          by Jon Robertson

                                 <*>


333SUPERGUY

     The house was obviously well lived-in.  It was brown brick, with
white wooden fake-shutters next to the curtained windows.  The paint
over the shutters was just starting to need another coat, but it could
hold for a while.  The azalea bushes hiding most of the house from the
road were shaggily trimmed, showing that the owner wasn't obsessive
about keeping them in prime condition.  That was supported by the
flower beds, filled with random flowers and the occasional missed weed.
     The whole picture gave off a rather strong air of normality.  No
war machines in the dirt driveway, just an old Blazer in need of a
wash.  There weren't any costumed men slipping out of back windows to
save the world or armored villains taunting the owner to come out and
fight.  It was just a house, and the owner was just a man.
     Fifty years ago, he'd been something more, for a few years at
least.  Jonathan had been a hero, with all the irritation, insanity,
and satisfaction that gave.  But that was a long time ago, and now he
was just another old man looking through pictures of the past.  After
all, he was about the only person who would.  The Guardsmen weren't
even yesterday's news -- they were yesterday's nobodies.
     Jonathan picked up one large black and white picture, smiling
slightly.  There they were, in the early forties back when things made
sense.  Mike, himself as Forefront, Pillar, Fasttime, Wave, and his
own brother Jim in the large tank nicknamed Leviathan.
     The picture was from the early days, before they'd really been
hit.  Before Jim and Pillar died holding the line while the others
fled, outnumbered and overpowered.  They two were buried together
after their bodies were recovered, next to each other as James and
Kimberly Robertson.  It wasn't true, not quite.  The marriage wouldn't
have happened for another week.  But it should have been, and the
cemetery wasn't going to argue.
     Tiny consolation for their deaths.  And it wasn't like they even
*mattered*, in the big picture.  They died to save the rest of the
Guardsmen from a situation where they'd all just bitten off more than
they could chew, trying for a shot at the big-time.  Mike had tried to
stop the team from going into it, but...
     There was Mike for you.  Always so right, so perfect.  He was the
only one of them that more then a handful of historians and other old
heroes had heard of -- but even that had nothing to do with the
Guardsmen.  Mike was rather wealthy and semi-well known, as in talking
to techies and businessmen would get you his name.  Meanwhile, he'd
managed to abandon his old pseudoskin covered hard metal body for one
more human.  Still youngish, rich, making a mark on things...
Jonathan couldn't even hate the guy, Mike was just too good.
     As for the rest... old age, disease, and apathy had taken most of
them away.  Fasttime and Wave were happily old and married, and hadn't
bothered calling in over a year.  Diecast came around every once in a
while, still looking in her early thirties.  Jonathan laughed to
himself.  He'd always think of her as the cute kid who hid in a
shipping crate for a night's rest and ended up being unloaded for more
ammo in the middle of a fight, confused as all get-out.
     And there was always Ben, of course.  Good old Walker -- the only
one he talked to anymore.  Two old men with nothing better to do, that
was them.  They shared the same disappointments in their twilight
years.  Their lives hadn't mattered yet, in any real sense.
     They'd had their effect, sure.  But the world wouldn't be
noticeably different without the Guardsmen.  There had been so many
heroes running around back that Jonathan couldn't even take refuge in
what they *had* been able to do.  If he hadn't been there, some other
part of the All-Super Battalion would have taken his place.
     Jonathan wasn't upset because no one knew him, not really.
Fame.. Jonathan wouldn't mind it, but it wasn't actually important.
He could handle living with no one knowing his name.  But he and Ben
wanted the *knowledge* that they mattered.  They needed it for their
self-respect -- to know the world was better for them... it was the
ultimate reward.
     But their hour wasn't over yet.  Very soon, Jonathan vowed.  They
would find a way, a second chance for the brass ring they'd missed the
first time out.


     Ben's house wasn't very far from Jonathan's own house, due to the
old friends wanting to stay close.  They were both well enough off
with regard to money, thanks to various jobs Mike had thrown to them
and a few other Guardsmen after they went their separate ways.  Most
of the jobs weren't anything special -- just various short, overpaid,
meaningless jobs that could really be done by anyone, supplemented
with stock in Dasher International that carried them through the rest
of the times.  Ben and Jonathan certainly weren't rich, but they could
survive the few years they had left comfortably.
     The inside of Ben's office was... interesting, to say the least.
Books and old weapons competed for space with amulets, a shrunken
head, a mind-bendingly complex metal sculpture, and several
unidentifiables.  As Ben's body had become more and more worn from the
years, he fell back on magic in an attempt to find the path.  He had
decent talent, and was stubborn in his studies.  And Ben had time, of
course.
     Both he and Jonathan were lucky in one way, at least.  Neither
had to worry *too* much about losing their chance as they grew old.
Ben had his magic, and Jonathan's own powers were non-physical.  As
Forefront, Jonathan had the gift of knowledge.  Impulses shot into his
mind -- which way to turn, where to shoot, what the enemy would do
next, how to deactivate Dr. Satire's Cunning Wit bomb...  His age
shouldn't have mattered to his effectiveness; not that much.
     Still, Jonathan's powers had faded after World War II ended.
He'd spent a year after the war mourning, closed off from his friends
and lost in the past.  And after he recovered, his powers were never
the same.  He would still get the occasional flash -- some urge to
not cross the street a few seconds before an accident, perhaps.  But
Jonathan had lost any control over his powers, and the impulses came
less and less often.
     Without him, with Mike leaving to help his father run Dasher
International and Steven and Christie marrying and going off to new
lives, the Guardsmen were gone.  Most of the other heroes continued on
until the sixties, but the Guardsmen simply disappeared.  Walker went
solo for a while, working occasionally with Diecast whenever he wasn't
working to stop her from robbing some place.  Everyone else gave
things a spin for a few months, then gave up and found nice, 'normal'
lives with Mike's help.
     There it was.  After all the hopes and dreams, normality.  Maybe
most of the others could take it, but he and Ben couldn't.  As year
after year passed, the two men dwelled in the past and tried to find a
way to make up for the wasted years.  Their plan was simple, really --
they were too world-weary to come up with some great epic adventure
anymore.  There was always some great disaster about to happen.  It
was sad to say, but there it was.  If only you knew where it would
be...
     Jonathan might be able to find them an event, if only his powers
were back.  As for Ben, he had gathered knowledge and favors for years
now, preparing and hoping for some purpose to use his power.  Between
them, who knew what they could accomplish?  True, it might take a few
months, maybe even several rescues from disaster for them to feel
they'd made their mark on the world.  So?  They were both old, with
nothing to look forward to.  They'd both ignored love and friendship
after the war as they tried to make up for their lack of effectiveness
during the fighting.  Jonathan and Ben only had themselves now, and
their dreams.


     "Is there anything new?"  Jonathan's voice sounded old and tired,
even to himself.  What would the press say when this was all done and
they spoke to him?  Think of him as a crazy old man, most likely.  Ah
well, that wasn't why he was doing this.
     "Mmm," Ben commented, filling the silence as he flipped through a
book.  The two men sat side by side at Ben's desk, with books and
notes and drawings around them.
     "Here we are," Ben muttered.  He slid the book towards Jonathan
and continued, apparently expecting Jonathan to follow along in the
old text.
     "From Mike's old tests and the probes I have placed on you.. it's
apparent that you get your energy from some inter-dimensional source."
Ben paused, gathering his thoughts.  "There is nothing.. wrong with
you physically; therefore any problem must be with your link."  Ben
looked over at the book, nodding to himself a bit.  "I should be able
to send you through the link and into your power source.  To see what
is wrong and fix it."
     Jonathan nodded.  "And then we'd finally be able to start our
work."
     "Yes..  It can't be soon enough."
     "What is it like in there?  Do you know?"  Jonathan's voice was
eager.  It had been so long since his powers left his control...
     "It's.. a link."  Ben shrugged slightly.  "A tap into some power
source.  Where the source is, I have no idea.  And it.. feels, more or
less.. like you are not the only one tapping into it.  If you don't
know how to undo the problem, you can attempt contacting one of the
others for advice."
     "Yes...  How hard will the trip be?"
     "Not too.  I believe that if your powers were working all the
way.. you could do this on your own.  But now..."  Another shrug.  "A
modified teleportation spell, sending you into yourself.  The probes
gave me the placing.  We.. can probably do it now, if you wish."  Ben
looked around the room.  "Yes..  I have what we need here."
     Jonathan swallowed.  Years of waiting, and now?  Boom, just like
that.  He'd just come over for a normal talk, hadn't expected this.
"I.. what will I need?"
     "Nothing much.  Once your powers are restored.. you can return on
your own."
     "I never was able to do that before."
     "The power you are tapped into.. the way you use it.. is
apparently up to you.  You use the energy in one way, another person
might use it a different way.  Once you've been teleported by my
spell, you should be able to duplicate it yourself."
     Jonathan ignored the 'should'.  Eagerness will do that to you.
"I'd like it as soon as you can..."  He paused, thinking.  "Do you
have something that can cast illusions over a body?"
     Ben stared at him, then snorted.  "Of *course* I do."  He stood
up and looked around, selecting an amulet from one of the shelves.
"Here.  Wear it and think about what you want to look like.  Won't do
clothes, and if you can't visualize good, you look like an idiot.
Enjoy."
     "Thank you, I.."  Jonathan sighed and slipped it on.  "If I meet
another person and ask for help, I don't want to look like some old
fool to be pitied."
     "Up to you," Ben muttered.  "No use in being someone else, I
say."
     Jonathan's face and body blurred, the white hair darkening to
red-brown and the wrinkles fading.  He glanced down at his now
spotless hands and nodded to himself.  He now looked like he had at
thirty.  Eat that, Robyn.  "I understand, I just..  Never mind."
     "I won't.  Now, I have preparations to make."  Ben's voice was
firmer now as he focused on the task at hand.  "If you have anything
you want to do first, do it."
     Jonathan chuckled.  "I have nothing, old friend.  Isn't that the
point of this?"

====

891ALMOSTREALLIFE, February 1991.

     He woke up confused.  At his age, he was used to that.  Jonathan
shook his head slightly, looking around.  *This* was his power source?
The last thing he remembered was Ben triggering the spell and sending
him on his way to the source, so he should be there.  But this... it
looked like an art classroom.
     Jonathan blinked around.  There were several huge metal desks for
multiple people, one of which had had a man sitting in it with his
back to Jonathan.  A second teenage boy stood nearby, and about twenty
students and an apparent teacher sat along the walls, looking
frightened.  But the only two that mattered where the two near at the
desk.
     They both looked like him.  No, they both *were* him.  He could
tell that, somehow.  One was in his mid-teens, like most of the people
there.  The boy looked like he had no idea what was going on, and
really didn't want to be there.  Something told Jonathan the boy
wasn't important for this.
     The other him was.  This person was in his early twenties, and
looked much as Jonathan had at that age.  Haunted, hopeless, and very
lost.  He hadn't shaved in a few days, and his eyes... defeat shone
from them.  He was wearing a plain blue bodysuit, with a long clean
cut along the man's left side, just under the ribs.  The flesh under
the cut showed no sign of injury.  The man watched Jonathan quietly.
     "Great," the second him muttered.  "Another one.  Why couldn't it
have been Lori, or Steven or Robyn?  Even Avant would've been good..."
The man swallowed, then nodded at Jonathan.  "Chris."
     Jonathan stood weakly.  No, not weakly.  He felt charged, younger
than he had in years.  The trip had done something to him, adding
energy to his body.  But it was disorienting, and he wasn't used to
the old strength coming back yet.  "I am Jonathan Robertson.. once
called Forefront.  I would like to ask of a favor."
     Chris stiffened slightly and looked down at the table, staring at
an object in front of him.  It was glass or crystal, and looked like
someone had shattered an object and fused the pieces back together
randomly.  Chris appeared tired, frustrated, and full of anger and
resignation just under the surface.  When he spoke, his voice was very
quiet.
     "I see.  So, Forefront.  You need your powers back."
     Jonathan blinked.  "How do you..."
     "Loop de loop.  You don't want to know."
     Chris lapsed into a sullen silence.  Jonathan awkwardly stared at
the floor, hoping that the object of his quest was here, but even more
confused than he'd been upon arrival.  He blinked at a small metal
card on the floor and picked it up.  It was hard, with two black spots
on it.  Besides that, it was an unmarked blue.
     Jonathan stared at it, wondering where it was from.  Something
was triggering in him at the sight, but he had no idea what.  He
looked up to ask Chris, then stopped as he saw the crystal again.
Only this time, his powers activated for the first time in months.
        To Jonathan's eyes, the crystal shone.  Energies were just on the
edge of bursting out of it, just begging to be taken.  This was it.
If his own powers had deserted him, then this talisman could give him
what he needed to restore them.
     "The crystal.."
     Chris sighed.  "Yeah, it's what you need.  You can use it to
restore your powers."
        "I.. yes.  What do you want in exchange for it?"
        Jonathan ignored Chris's slightly raised eyebrow as the
younger counterpart spoke.  "Exchange?"
        "Of course.  I will not take such a valuable thing from you with
nothing to give to you in return."
        Chris tried to hide cold amusement.  "I don't need anything,
really.  The joy of giving is enough."
        Jonathan sighed slightly.  "Not for me.  But I have little to
trade for it.  Money, if you wish.  An amulet meant for illusions,
some supplies..."  Jonathan shrugged and raised the metal card.
     "Or this.  I have no idea what it is, but it's *something*
special, I think.  I found it on me when I arrived."
        Jonathan watched in anticipation as Chris stared at the card for
a moment before nodding.  "Yeah.  It's perfect... Forefront.  A
pleasure doing business with you."
        "And I with you."  Jonathan walked over to the table and set the
metal card down, then waited.  Chris looked at him for a long moment
then slid the crystal over, keeping his eyes locked on Jonathan's.
     Something about the crystal seemed to jump out at him, as the
energies inside of it tried to escape.  Yes, this was right.  The
crystal was powerful... too dangerous for his counterpart.  But he was
older and wiser -- he would take the energy for his own and contain
its danger within itself.
        "You'd better get going, 'brother'.  I'm sure you've got lots of
stuff to do."  Chris broke the gaze and slumped, staring back at the
table.  Around them, the other people sat quietly, not daring to make
a sound.
        Jonathan nodded slightly, his attention tied to the crystal.
"Yes... but I hate to leave when we've just met.  Is there any way to
arrange some meeting another time, when we can talk more?"
        "Mm.  Let's not bother with planning anything.  I'm sure
something'll come up."
        Jonathan ignored the slight edge in Chris's voice.  Not that
hard to understand, considering that most of his attention was going
to contain the fire trying to jump out at him from the crystal in his
hand.  God, so much...  he came back to reality long enough to nod
curtly.  He clapped a hand on Chris's shoulder supportively, and did
not notice Chris flinch in response.
        "Goodbye and thank you, then."  Jonathan wanted to say more.
He wanted to warn Chris about possibilities and sadness and lost
opportunities and everything that he wished he'd known when he was
young, but he couldn't bear to wait one more second.  Jonathan gave
the crystal the one short command it was begging for, and the energies
exploded outward, then inside of him as they were absorbed...  Going
backwards into the depths that the energy that had fueled him before
came from, shattering barriers that tried to restore themselves
immediately but power and sight were bleeding through and everything
coming out of the crystal was pulling him backwards into the depths
that he had just emerged from and this time his mind was unprotected
and bent from the energy trying to get in and trying to get out and he
was fading and he saw Chris smile oh so coldly and whisper something
as he disappeared...

====

Interlude

Imagine 6829 lives.  Every single instant of every single day of every
single year of each of those lives, in perfect detail.  And then they
change every once in a while, through the meddling of the Sorcerer
Superfluous and his counterparts.  All of those lives, emotions,
memories, flying through your head.

Imagine seeing yourself through the eyes of people who hate you; who
you've caused pain immeasurable to.  And seeing your own life, with
each petty little injustice and selfish action highlighted, along with
the emotions that led to them.  Watching all of the pain you have
caused and will ever cause, from your own viewpoint and the viewpoint
of your counterparts that you will plague.

Imagine at the same time containing energies that are, to put it
mildly, mind-warping.  They go inside of your body and mind, charging
both past the limits of sanity...

And imagine seeing the ultimate joke, the end result of everything you
will do and say.  Locked into a loop, unable to break out no matter
how hard you try.  Until the bloody end.

Could you take it?  It doesn't really matter -- you're not likely to
ever be in a position to need to withstand the stress.  Only Jonathan
Robertson, Forefront of the Guardsmen, matters.  And he could not.

====

000SUPERGUY, February 1992

     Jonathan appeared outside a building in Atlanta, but a different
Atlanta than the one he had known.  Memories and power were fading
from his aching head, leaving only a sketchy knowledge of what was
coming and what he begin to set up in the next few months to stop it.
The crystal in his hands throbbed with a little more power, promising
Jonathan that it would not leave him alone in his mission.  It had
changed in the trip, restoring itself to a smooth semi-globe.
     There was a man in front of him, trying to help him up.  With a
short glance, Jonathan knew the man was George Derbilt.  A dreamer who
wished he could make a difference, and hated the waste his life was
being put to by Gypco.  A man with potential, and Jonathan would be
the key to unlocking it.
     Mr. Derbilt looked back at the raggedly dressed man, concern
giving way to fear as he saw Jonathan's glowing white eyes.  But as
the eyes faded back to normal, George Derbilt saw something else
within them. Knowledge.  Faith.  Will.  And the unspoken promise that
if Derbilt followed him, they would both have the ultimate reward -- a
meaningful life.
     Derbilt bowed down, not knowing exactly why -- only that the man
who had just appeared now had his ultimate loyalty.  "Sir.  Who.. are
you?"
     Jonathan considered for a moment, as the energies took him and
prompted him into tweaking the illusion covering him into the face he
knew he would wear.  The answer was obvious, of course.  Most
everything was, now that he had Seen.  The next few months were
sketched out in perfect detail, and the ones after had the occasional
glimpse that he could use.  The battle was coming, and he would place
this world's Guardsmen at the front, where they would prove their
worth and power in ways his had never been able to.  Thus both he and
they would earn the greatest reward.
     "Sir?"
     Of course, he decided, it never hurt to pay attention to what's
right in front of your face.  With a small smile, he answered as he
had to. "You can call me Barry Van Rice, Mr. Derbilt.  And we will go
far together...  Far indeed."

====

Epilogue

     The energies and visions hounded him.  There was no escape from
them; not here.  He could feel his attempts at holding on slowly being
pushed away as one defense after another fell.  He couldn't stay here
much longer without losing his sanity.
     In the distance, if distance there was in this hell, there were
tunnels leading off from the room.  They were difficult to see past
everything else assaulting whatever senses he had left, but they were
indeed there.  He'd come here through one of them, so logic...
assuming he could still handle logic with the pain in his mind... said
that he might be able to leave through one.
     Once that was decided, the trip was easier than he could have
imagined.  He simply desired it, and suddenly he was hurtling a tunnel
to wherever it lead.   The tunnel was darker than the previous one,
and there was some sort of barrier blocking it off.  It didn't matter.
After a thought, the barrier was broken and he fell into his
destination, trailed by the energies he'd absorbed in the main 'room'.
They fell into wherever he now was, filling and overburdening the
place without warning...


Chris grinned over at Amy a bit shyly, waiting until her head was
turned, of course.  The day was going great, as long as you didn't
consider the slightly burnt hamburgers.  But enough ketchup fixed
that, and he was having fun.  Chris took another sip from his cup
before wincing at a sudden twinge in his chest.  He set the cup down
and took a deep breath, hoping that the sensation would go.  His hopes
were dashed after a few seconds, when the feelings increased.

He could feel... something burning through him.  It felt like every
ounce of skin on his body was on fire, and he had no idea why.  He
opened his mouth, but Chris couldn't speak as the pain blew beyond
anything he'd known.  Galen had noticed his expression already and was
tapping Amy's arm to get her attention.  And mom was asking something
that he couldn't hear through the pain and the screaming voices in his
head and he couldn't hold it in any longer...


     <I'm sorry... I didn't mean...>  Jon cried to himself, reflecting
his own pain and the pain of the person he'd landed in.  No one heard
him.  Chris was unconscious from the explosion marking the first
flaring of his power, and Jon had no idea how to take control of the
body.
     He had to stay awake, fight the exhaustion he was feeling after
the day's (or was it longer?) events.  If he talked to Chris, they
could find a way to help both of them.  But now, Jon only had the
darkness to keep him company.  And though he tried, he couldn't fight
both the exhaustion and the boredom.
     Jon Robertson, Vanguard, gave in to the need to rest and recover.
And so he slept, waiting for something to work past the haze and
reawaken him...


EEP?

Er, nothing much to say here.  Just stay tuned, to... SUPERGUY!!!

--
333SUPERGUY and the All-Super Battalion belong to Eric Burns and are
used with his permission.  Everything else comes from the murky depths
of my mind, unless it comes from somewhere else.