12/21/12 - The Trial of the Imago - Verdict and Sentencing

An ending, then. And about !@#$ing time, too, if you ask me.

Not that you're bad company or anything, son. But this has been one long !@#$ night, talking about this !@#$. Lots of !@#$ I really didn't want to !@#$ing think about or bring up, again. Lots of unfinished business, nasty !@#$ing connections, unfortunate god!@#$ revelations, and really !@#$-ugly truths.

And, always, it all comes right !@#$ing back to me, now doesn't it? Same as it ever was.

Heh. "My God, what have I done...?"

...

You gonna drink that, son? No? Okay, lemme take it for the common good, here...

Ah, down the !@#$ing hatch.

* * *

So, Thanksgiving happens. I pull my gun out and shoot something that should not be so full of magic !@#$ing bullets that it's a wonder I don't have to go back in time and snag one of the ones they tried to use on President Kennedy, that one afternoon in Texas. It's all over the !@#$ world by the next day, and I'm having to explain my !@#$ to the President of the United States of America, who, as you might understand is not !@#$ing happy with me. 

At all.

A day after that, while I'm at home in the B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G., essentially laying low by Presidential order until he figures out what the !@#$ to do or say, or do with me, the Fourth Estate finally tracks down Mister Chaos at the Ashram he's been !@#$ing hiding out at since the Reclamation War ended, and asks him for his version of things that day. And he makes it clear that, yes, he broke orders, and a team member died, and so on.

But yes, Wolf, he was able to bring those children back to life. 

And yes, Anderson, it's possible he could have done the same !@#$ thing for all of them, if he'd been given the time and the right circumstances to twist around.

And, yes, Sean, he didn't have the time because it was not given unto him. Because I ordered those White Boxes be destroyed once the initial plan didn't !@#$ing work. 

A day after that, it's official. I am now the mother!@#$ing face that's been applied to the absent gravesites of a billion dead children. My face goes up on signs and banners and websites all over the world, and they all want my !@#$ing fine gay !@#$ on a silver plate for having made that decision.

And just like that, I'm public enemy number one, all over again. 

Now, you know me, son. My first instinct when someone throws a punch is to shoot them in the !@#$ing guts. And here's all these fists coming at me, from all !@#$ directions, and you know I have enough !@#$ing guns to shoot their owners all down like ducks at the !@#$ state fair, right?

Fortunately, my boyfriend smacks some sense into me... well, !@#$s some sense into me is the better term, not that you really needed to know that, but okay. And a few hours later, after I've nutted over half the !@#$ bed, knocked back a drink or two, and kicked the !@#$ cat out of the room about five !@#$ times because it keeps stealing my !@#$ing vodka, I'm back in some semblance of control, again. 

And that's !@#$ good, because the day after that is the day we've all been !@#$ing waiting for. The day that the trial of the Imago officially ends, and the verdict is read. 

Now, you I know you haven't been !@#$ing living under a rock, son. You know how it all went down. And you know that this was all as certain as sunrise. 

But it's all the little details that matter, because you know one of the go-to questions of the next 100 years is !@#$ing going to be "Where were you when the Imago were found guilty?"  

And I will never !@#$ing forget.

* * *

Silence so absolute you could cut it with a butter knife -- that's what greets SPYGOD the moment he shows up at the courtroom, heads down the row, ready to take his seat with the other Prosecution witnesses.

Everyone is here, today. All the Strategic Talents who fought in the Reclamation War, from all the nations that had them to spare, most of whom pretend they don't see him. All the heads of the Weird Armies that attacked and defended, some of whom SPYGOD dealt with, and some of whom have since been replaced due to madness or death. All of the Spymasters and Talent Handlers, most of whom either give SPYGOD a cold glare or just nod, and do nothing more. 

Heads of state and their endless assistants and bodyguards. Ordinary people who have been brought to watch and bear witness. The press, the writers, the media personalities. 

And none of them want to shake hands with the pariah. (Not here and now, anyway.)

SPYGOD moves quickly down the aisle, glad that, here at least, no one's going to shove a !@#$ing camera in his face. Director Straffer walks beside him, casting a withering glare on anyone who looks like they might be the one to start booing. And somewhere between the occasion and the look from his eyes, no one dares.

The three chief Defendants are here, under lock and key, and guarded so completely it's a wonder anyone can see them at all. Every so often they can hear Dark Star cackle about something, or hear The Sight gibber something nonsensical, or ask what time it is. One time he declares "time has come today!" and, thankfully, a ripple of laughter makes its way through the court.

SPYGOD looks around and smiles, hoping to see one directed back at him, but his gaze all but withers the human moment on the vine. 

"Tough crowd," he whispers to Mr. USA, who's sitting beside him.

"Very," the man says, and, not caring that Straffer has his arm around him, puts his elbow up on the man's shoulder, in a wordless sign of solidarity and support. 

"Thank you," Straffer whispers just loud enough for the other Talents there to hear.

"Anytime," the old hero says, looking at both of them, his eyes just a little wet from the emotion.

And then the Judge ruins it by entering. 

* * *

One loooooooooong !@#$ing speech later...

* * *

"... so, as best as it is given unto this court to judge you for your actions, and as best as we are able to hold you accountable for the crimes that you committed against this planet, this court, as agreed upon by all parties, finds the entirety of the race of the Imago guilty on all counts."

There is a roar, then, of uncertain provenance. Is it happiness at the right thing having been done, or relief that it's finally come around? Is it anger at the defendants, now finally being uttered now that they have been found guilty, or sadness at how many deaths it took to get to this day?

No one knows, but, like some kind of virus, the roar spreads from person to person. It engulfs. It immolates. All within the courtroom pick it up and carry it for as long as they can, as loudly as they must.

SPYGOD is no different. Indeed, he's the one who actually stands. And, even though he is now, in many eyes there, as bad as they are, the others in the court follow his lead.

As one human being, the many people in the court stand and roar, carrying out their own pronouncement upon the Imago. A message both personal and impersonal, unique and not. A condemnation from all lips.

A message, unmistakable and sere, that they picked on the wrong !@#$ planet. 

The Judge, wisely, lets this go on for as long as it needs to. He does not so much as reach for his gavel to quiet it. He sits there, staring at the Imago -- defendants no longer, but properly named the guilty -- and lets the people of the court say the things that he cannot give utterance to at this time.

Duty has stilled his voice, but the people of the world have let it be heard.

How long this "human scream" (as the press and historians later call it) goes on for is a mystery to all who are involved within it. But, by degrees, it dies, moment by moment, and voice by voice. 

And then there is the silence of the court, broken only by the mocking, but subdued laugh of Dark Star, herself. 

"We shall meet here again in three days' time for sentencing," the Judge announces, putting the rest of his speech aside: "The guilty will be escorted from here to their holding cells to await their fate."

The gavel speaks. All rise. All eyes turn to the trio as they are slowly and solemnly marched from the room.

And then it's just the room, and SPYGOD. Thankfully, no one within it's in a mood to take their frustrations out on him. 

Not that he sticks around long enough to give anyone the chance. 

* * *

 A lot can !@#$ing happen in three days, and believe me son, it did.

I had to do something I really did not want to do, but had to. And then I had to do something that I'd been !@#$ing waiting for a chance to do since !@#$ing forever, but couldn't have come at a worse time, or in a worse way. 

Then I had to !@#$ing duck the blowback from both those things, which didn't !@#$ing help things at all. And then I had another talk with the President, who was even less amused with me than before, if that was !@#$ing possible.

And then, on the third day, under threat to not do anything else to !@#$ things up on pain of the mother of all Executive sanctions, Straffer and I headed off to Paris to watch another piece of !@#$ing history happen. 

And this time, we had special company waiting for us, there.

* * *

"... and so, it comes to us to find an appropriate punishment for you," the Judge says, his hands steepled in front of his face: "And this is where things become very difficult."

"I have a few suggestions, if you are short of ideas," The Sight giggles, much to the consternation of Dark Star and Green and Yellow. Someone shouts obscenities from the back row, and the Judge holds up his hand, rather than banging on his gavel.

"I share your anger, here and in this moment," he says, perhaps breaking decorum a bit: "But please, let us reflect upon this solemn moment. It is a rare thing for a race to hold another to account for its crimes. Rarer still for such a race to place a consequence upon it."

He steeples his hands before his face, once more, and then puts both hands down on the desk in front of him.

"There is a school of thought that you should be executed, somehow. We have the means to configure energy from one kind to another. We should, therefore, be able to channel your energy in such a way that you lose all sense of identity during the transfer. 

"A cruel thing, perhaps, to be condemned to an endless, living death. But given the cruelty you showed us, it would be justice of a sort. Indeed, unlike us, at least you would know it's coming." 

There is some measure of assent throughout the court on that.

"But, there is another school of thought that says that we, perhaps, have no right to execute you. Earlier in this trial, you spoke of wasps and spiders. Was the wasp guilty of immobilizing the spider and laying its eggs within it, or does guilt not apply in what is an instinctual response? An evolution-tested act of survival?

"This time, the spider has merely turned the tables upon the wasp. But does that spider have the right to destroy all such wasps, everywhere? Do we? 

"I must say no," he says, holding up his hand against the roar that would otherwise erupt in his court: "I cannot condemn you all to death. If we would kill you for, as you rightly point out, obeying your species-based drive to survive, then we would become no better than you. And that is not a line I am willing to cross."

There is silence, then. And he looks at the defendants, all of whom mock him with their eyes (save for Green and Yellow, of course).

"Imprisonment, then, seems our best option. It punishes you for your crimes against us. It takes you from the board. It relegates you to somewhere where you can be no harm to us.

"And, as this imprisonment must be eternal, it ensures that you will never be a harm to anyone or anything, ever again."

This makes the court happy. The Judge allows them their susurrus of agreement, and then continues speaking. 

"But we must learn from those who imprisoned you, before. They sent you to another dimension, our dimension in fact, and here to spend your days far from them, but also not be within their control. We must never lose control of you, but yet we cannot have control over you, for fear of someone or something acting to free you."

The Judge nods to the older man who has come with SPYGOD and Straffer. He stands, his dark uniform something of a rarity in a room filled with so many bright costumes and shiny fatigues. His white, long hair is braided and looped all the way past his waist.

"This is Mister Freedom. For many years, the American government has relied upon him to create escape-proof prisons for their criminals. Unto his care we relegate the lot of you to the darkness, for an eternity. May you find kindness there, within it. We have none to give you here."

A gavel ends the session. The guilty are taken away, down a different hall, and the older man goes to follow them.

"We still need to settle up after Cuba," SPYGOD says, nodding goodbye to him.

"No need," the old man says, putting a hand on his shoulder and winking: "It's good to know I can still be foiled from time to time. I'm just glad it was a friend."

And the word 'friend' makes SPYGOD's heart smile for the first time in days. 

* * *

The next time I saw them, the imprisonment was happening...

Oh, what? Yeah, just need to take a slash, son. Be right back. Have another drink.

Just got to deal with one more thing before we get to the end of this !@#$ story. 

Really. 

 (SPYGOD is listening to In Power We Entrust the Love Advocated (Dead Can Dance) and having a Three Monts )

12/21/12 - The Trial of the Imago - pt 6.

Yeah, drink that !@#$ing beer down, son. We're operating at six for me to one for you, and this part needs a good !@#$ drunk to be able to tell.

So where were we? Oh yes. Oldest living withered crone hosting a malevolent alien intelligence just outed yours truly in court. Everyone there's just wheeled around to look at my fine, gay !@#$, and all I can do is stare back and shrug... at least for a moment.

And then I realize exactly what she means. And it takes everyone there to keep me from pulling out the two guns they didn't  !@#$ing confiscate and shoot the nasty !@#$ full of holes, right then and there.

* * *

SPYGOD: You !@#$ing genocidal whore! You !@#$ing !@#$headed smear of ET !@#$! I'm going to shoot you so !@#$ing full of lead they'll be picking !@#$ing pieces of you out of the walls in !@#$ing Norway, you withered... gah... (incoherent cursing)

Dir. Straffer: (REDACTED), this is no good. Please, calm down.

Judge: Order! There will be order, here!

Dark Star: (Maniacal, incoherent laughter)

Mr. USA: Stop it, (REDACTED). Please. It's alright.

SPYGOD: The !@#$ it is! She's the one! She's the one who !@#$ing set us up, (REDACTED)! She's the one who !@#$ing set us against each other-

Mr. USA: I know. We both know, now. Let her finish the story. 

SPYGOD: I've !@#$ing heard enough-

Judge: If you have, indeed, heard enough, then perhaps you should leave the courtroom until we are ready for you to give testimony, Msr. SPYGOD.

Defense: If it would please the court, I would like to recommend he be removed entirely. I think we would be poorly served by letting a witness for the prosecution kill one of the defendants. 

Winifred: Speak for yourself, !@#$face.

Judge: Young lady, you will be quiet-

Defense: Nothing he has to say is of any use to the conclusion of this trial, quite frankly. It can be entered into evidence without his presence.

Prosecution: I respectfully disagree. I would really prefer to have him here.

Judge: Very well. If we are done trying to kill the defendant...?

SPYGOD: ... yes. I'm done.

Judge: Are you, msr. SPYGOD?

SPYGOD: I am, yes. 

Judge: Good. Then we shall take an hour's recess, and come back to this point. In the meantime, Msr. SPYGOD, I suggest you relinquish all your weapons before re-entering the courtroom. One more outburst of any kind from you, armed or not, and I will throw so many contempt charges upon you that you will wish you were sharing the defendants' fate. And that goes for you too, young lady. 

SPYGOD: She'll behave herself, your honor. We all will.

Judge: See that you do. This court is adjourned.

* * *

Oh yeah, that was embarrassing as !@#$. I really don't like people to know that I have those guns, any more than I like them knowing about the sword, or a few other nasty !@#$ tricks I've got up my sleeve.

As for self control issues, well, !@#$, son, we just listened to that !@#$ cackle about eating the world's children for fuel and running their parents' electric cars on the overflow current. If anything, everyone in that courtroom should have been pulling out hidden weapons and carving the !@#$ up like it was !@#$ing Christmas.

(Especially Winifred. After what she went through I'd have !@#$ing applauded if she'd grabbed one of my pieces and let the !@#$ have it.)

But yes, I bet I know what you're thinking. How the Prosecution just sort of rolled the !@#$ over, there? Well, it will be important, later. But for now let's go on with the big !@#$ story, here.

So they let us out, and I hand over my guns like a naughty schoolkid who got caught with a paper airplane. Then we all go downstairs, and the first thing my boyfriend asks me is "how many things?"

And I say "A whole !@#$ing room."

A minute or two later I'm !@#$ing smashing tables, windows, and computers in a small room no one's using. Straffer's in the room, watching to make sure I don't go out of control, and the Owl's outside, running sonic interference. Everyone else is off getting coffee or a smoke or !@#$ knows what. 

And I smash and crash and break and wreck !@#$ing everything in there until I can finally stop seeing red, and start breathing regular again. And then I'm two seconds away from needing the mother of all drunks to !@#$ing kick in and knock my brain back from thinking. But fortunately Straffer's there to smack some sense into me and tell me I'm no good to anyone if I'm blasted out of my mind and hallucinating, again.

Yes, it involves the mother of all kisses, son. And thank !@#$ he's good at those. 

So we brush off as much of the sawdust and plaster flecks as will come loose, I wash up in the men's, and we get the !@#$ out of there before anyone walks in and has the mother of all freak-outs at what happened to a large room full of innocent office stuff.

Then we're all back upstairs, and I'm back in the courtroom with that nasty, withered !@#$, again. And she's just looking at me, quietly cackling. 

And I know we're in for a good time, now. 

* * *

Prosecution: So, to begin again? You said that SPYGOD was the one who told you that this... I'm not certain how you say it-

Dark Star: (UNINTELLIGIBLE CONCEPT), human.

Prosecution: Yes. That. He told you it was coming?

Dark Star: Yes, he did. And he was not alone-

Prosecution: Is that man in this courtroom?

Dark Star: No, he is not.

Prosecution: I am not certain what you mean. 

Dark Star: There's this SPYGOD, here, who at least has the courage of his convictions. And then there is another SPYGOD. Someone you have not met, perhaps, but someone you have seen.

Prosecution: And when have we seen him?

Dark Star: Shooting the American President on television, of course...

(GASPS)

Dark Star: ...except that was not the President, either. Except that it was. 

Prosecution: I do not understand...?

Defense: This is new to me as well. We did not discuss this.

Dark Star: Allow me to explain. There is another Earth, traveling besides yours in space. It is your closest parallel, and it is, to your sensibilities, at least, a dark reflection of this one. Those scientists who know of it call it Alter-Earth. And I suspect its existence has been kept a secret to avoid panic, as well as having to avoid telling your rather squeamish citizens about what things are like there.

Prosecution: And how are they?

Dark Star: Quite hideous. I think I will spare you the details, given how poorly you took the truth about what we did to you, for all those months. 

Prosecution: And what is your connection to this world? This Alter-Earth?

Dark Star: A very complicated one, now. Initially it was so much simpler. We had each had information that the other wanted. But then we took advantage of a coincidence too great to leave alone, and then things became rather... baroque, for want of a better word. 

Prosecution: You have our full attention, I assure you.

Dark Star: In the early 1950's, we were clandestinely approached by two individuals, both claiming to speak for their world. A man and a woman, both possessed of a fierce intelligence and very savage appetites. They had actually been here for at least a decade before, she infiltrating certain circles within America's Strategic Talents, and he lurking in the background, keeping an eye on certain developments. 

Prosecution: Certain circles? Could you be more specific?

Dark Star: When she surrendered to the Allies, after your second World War, she claimed to be Dr. Gertrude Hoffstatler. I believe you know her better as Dr. Geri Yesterday? 

Prosecution: The wife of the late Dr. Robert Yesterday? The one you took over and turned into, the Motion, was it?

Dark Star: The same.

* * *

Now, right about now, Mr. USA and I are !@#$ing looking at each other. And neither of us is wanting to say what this means. 

You'll remember that, a long !@#$ing time ago, I told you that Gertrude was the conjoined twin of Gerde Hoffstatler, who learned a lot of sick !@#$ at the vivisection lab of Dr. Josef Mengele. Gerde who vanished after the War only to show up later as the !@#$ing leader of HONEYCOMB. Gerde who then spent way too much !@#$ing time telling us how we really should just accept her crazy-!@#$ ideas of a perfect planet, under her rule. 

But then, we only had Gertrude's word to go on that, now didn't we? That Gerde had a conjoined twin was a matter of record, given the exactitude of German pre-war records. But could we be so !@#$ing sure that the Gertrude we knew was the actual twin?

Think about it, son. For all we know, the nasty scar on her back could have been self-inflicted. Or maybe there was a Gertrude and Gerde over on Alter-Earth, and they were separated as well? What would have stopped her from killing the real Gertrude at some point and taking her place?

And it's not like we actually got the !@#$ing chance to interrogate Gerde, now did we? Crazy !@#$ jumped to a nasty, atomic death the second she realized the main H.I.V.E. was compromised, back during OPERATION BUGSMASH.

So that was our little mind!@#$, right there. The nice person who made cookies, talked sense into her crazy!@#$ husband the mad scientist, and actually did the real brainwork when her hubby couldn't figure out what to do was actually an evil twin, all along. 

And that meant that she'd had access to !@#$ing everything all along.

So we looked at each other, and the look he gave me was something along the lines of "We need to talk, later."

And mine said "You're god!@#$ !@#$ing right."

Back to the front of the courtroom:

* * *

Prosecution: And who was the other?

Dark Star: At first, we did not know. She said he was her protector, and he did not care to speak. But we soon came to realize that he was as much a part of the venture as she was. He just preferred not to converse with her in front of us, so they could conspire and have their lies well-prepared.

Prosecution: So these were not trustworthy allies?

Dark Star: Far from it. On Alter-Earth, duplicity is the norm. To be honest is to be weak. And weakness is destroyed, along with the weak. 

Prosecution: I see. So you eventually discovered that this man was SPYGOD's... twin?

Dark Star: Yes. The same man, in most respects, but just slightly different.

Prosecution: Similar enough to be able to kill the American President on television and have others believe it was him?

Dark Star: Similar enough to pass any number of mental and physical scans, so that there was no doubt amongst America's Strategic Talents that SPYGOD was the culprit.

Prosecution: But that would not come until much later. What did they come to you for, and with, initially?

Dark Star: A cooperative project, designed to save both of us from the onslaught of (Unintelligible Concept). 

Prosecution: And how did they know of it?

Dark Star: Their parallel had also been visited by a reflection of it, roughly a million of their years ago. Unlike this world, records of that time survived, handed down from the advanced race that once lived on that world and was destroyed by nascent humanity, there. They knew it was coming, and had some ideas on how to stop it. But they needed access to our world to see if their plans had merit. 

Prosecution: Why?

Dark Star: Two reasons. This world is actually going to be the first one visited, by a factor of a year and three months. They hoped to see if their device worked here, first, before trying it on their world. And, as we later learned, were also quietly planning to move their own people over here once the thing had been and gone, in case the device did not work. That way they could either wait here for their world to be ravaged, and then return, or else rebuild on this new Earth. 

Prosecution: And the other reason?

Dark Star: Apparently, when our world was visited, it was not ravaged as badly as theirs was. There was something here that kept it from being completely annihilated, and drove it off, to an extent. 

Prosecution: Which something was that?

Dark Star: That is not known, even to us. But we know it has something to do with the structure in ABWEHR's Antarctic redoubt, which you call the Ice Palace. The answer lies within the Chamber, and she had quite a bit of access to it, once your SPYGOD took control of it, and after, once it was just her and Dr. Yesterday and the United Nations watching over it. 

Prosecution: And did she discover what she needed to know?

Dark Star: That is the strange thing. She never told us. After she shot Dr. Yesterday, thus denying us a total copy of his mind and inventive skills, she left us. 

Prosecution: Now why would she do that?

Dark Star: We do not know. We tried to get her protector to tell us why, but he claimed ignorance. He said that this was just her way, and that if she fouled up our plans it was doubtlessly for a good purpose. And as a sign of his good faith, such as it was, he continued on with the plan to replace the American president, and kill the replacement on live television, thus discrediting SPYGOD and keeping him from stopping us. 

Prosecution: And this plan was yours?

Dark Star: It was. We needed him out of the way, you see. We knew that, if he knew what we had planned, and what we really were, he would stop at nothing to destroy us. We initially thought we could wait to do this, of course, but then he decided to go on the offensive, after decades of a somewhat pathetic stalemate. So we had to advance our plans, and perhaps this was too much too fast for Geri's liking? We do not know. 

Prosecution: What else did this plan entail?

Dark Star: Oh, many years of small things. Once we realized that her protector was the near-exact duplicate of SPYGOD, we decided to have some fun. There were many times that he was less than sober, thanks to his personal failings. On those times, we would sometimes have him pretend to be him, and do strange and unsettling things to make him seem less reputable an individual. And since he would not remember these things, he could not say whether he'd done them and forgotten, or not. And he'd either deny it, or blame it on mind control. (evil cackle)

Prosecution: Well, that's quite diabolical-

Dark Star: Oh, that's nothing. When we learned that Mr. USA and SPYGOD had been feuding since World War II, we decided to make certain that America's most powerful superhero was also neutralized. 

Prosecution: What...? How?

The Owl: What?

Dark Star: We found out his darkest secret, and used it against him. And we had our SPYGOD call him up, and threaten to take full advantage of it, if he didn't do what we wanted. 

Prosecution: And what did you have him do-

Mr. USA: I killed people. 

(Gasps)

Judge: Sir, you are out of order.

SPYGOD: (REDACTED) Sit down and shut up. 

Mr. USA: I sat on my hands and did nothing while terrible things were going on. I looked the other way and let them do whatever they wanted. I remained silent, though I wanted to scream. And I betrayed my world, my nation, my oaths, and my friends. 

SPYGOD: Oh god...

Mr. USA: And I did it all for love, which is pretty sad when you think about it. 

Dark Star: Yes, it is. (maniacal laughter)

* * *

And that was the end of that day's worth of testimony. 

And the end of a few other things, besides.

(SPYGOD is listening to Kiko (Dead Can Dance) and having a Tenebreuse)

12/21/12 - The Trial of the Imago - pt 5.

The next day of testimony was nowhere near as much of a mind!@#$ as the day before. We didn't talk about other !@#$ing dimensions, space gods in disguise, or the like.

Instead, we talked about horror.

See, it's like I said, son. I was at !@#$ing Nuremberg. I remember everything that went on there, clear as a !@#$ing bell. I remember when they grilled the architects of the final !@#$ing solution about what the !@#$ they were thinking when they just sort of decided to !@#$ing kill the millions of people they'd told their citizens it was !@#$ing okay to hate, fear, and turn in for a big !@#$ "Attaboy, Citizen."

And I remember them just sitting there, in the witness box, and telling the story like it was !@#$ing nothing. Just another !@#$ day at the office with Adolph and Heinrich... 

...

And I also remember that I wasn't at Nuremberg, actually. I was somewhere else. Somewhere I'm still not !@#$ing allowed to talk about.

Now how the !@#$ing !@#$ did that happen? It's like I can remember it, clear as !@#$ing day. The whole !@#$ing thing, too...

...

Okay, another mystery for another !@#$ing day when I'm not trying to tell a !@#$ story. Maybe it's the beer, or maybe it's weird-!@#$ !@#$ I don't have time to deal with, right the !@#$ now. Onward we go.

I was at the Imago Trials. I sat, I listened, I mostly kept my !@#$ mouth shut, and then I testified.

And then I !@#$ed myself. Hard.

But we're getting to that. Really.

* * *

Prosecution: ... so you eventually figured out how to escape the prison this other, more powerful race had constructed for you.

Green and Yellow: Yes. Obviously. 

Prosecution: And what happened then?

Green and Yellow: We marshaled all the energy we had been saving for millions of your years. We focused it on one small, tiny corner of the city. We threw everything we had at that corner, with no regard for our own lives or safety. We all lost much of ourselves in the gambit, and some of us lost their lives...

Prosecution: I'm sorry? Was there something more?

Green and Yellow: Oh yes. There was something more, and now it is gone. If I had but a tenth of the power I once had, I could kill everyone in this room, here and now, with barely a thought. I could destroy most of the city immediately thereafter. I would not need to steal your bodies to do it, either. 

Prosecution: But you are diminished?

Green and Yellow: I am. We are. We crippled ourselves trying to escape. 

Prosecution: Did you know this would happen?

Green and Yellow: Yes we did. We were not stupid. But our love for one another was so great that we would have all gladly laid down our lives just so that one could leave the prison, and see our race returned to glory.

Prosecution: And one of you did manage to leave?

Green and Yellow: You ask me a question you already know the answer to. 

Judge: He did, yes. Please answer that question. 

Green and Yellow: One of us did escape, yes.

Prosecution: Is this person here, today?

Green and Yellow: She is, yes. To me, she is Absolute Black and Bright White. You know her as Dark Star. 

Prosecution: She does not look like you.

Green and Yellow: No, she does not. Her encounter suit was discarded long ago, when she made contact with the human she harnessed.

Prosecution: And just for clarification, by "harnessed," you mean "took over."

Green and Yellow: Yes. She came upon a small, fishing vessel, far off course. Inside of it was a young girl who had been thrown out to sea in a storm. Everyone else on board had been long dead, and she was insane from thirst and hunger. So I suppose what my sister did to her was something of a mercy.

Prosecution: Killing her.

Green and Yellow: You make it sound so pedestrian. We do not kill. 

Prosecution: I beg your pardon-

Green and Yellow: It is given. We are the Imago, human. We change. We absorb. We harness. That young, dying girl was harnessed by Absolute Black and Bright White. Her memories, experience, and skills were absorbed by her, and added to us. She lives on in us, as has every human we have absorbed. We have given her immortality. 

Prosecution: Did you ask, first?

Green and Yellow: Of course not. Did you ask your last meal if it minded that you add it to you, for as long as you might live?

Prosecution: I happen to be vegetarian, but-

Green and Yellow: Oh, the things I could tell you. 

Judge: Perhaps it would be best if you confined yourself to the questions you are asked. 

Green and Yellow: Of course, your honor. Do forgive me, human. Your meal was mindless and asking for it.

Prosecution: Well... I am certain a large number of people around the world just breathed a sigh of relief.

Green and Yellow: But now you know how we see you. 

* * *

What they talked about then was mostly nothing you don't already !@#$ing know about, courtesy of my explosive fact-finding missions in China. But it did fill in some gaps.

The monster wearing the girl was Absolute Black and Bright White, and she was something of a legend to the Imago. I guess that's why Dark Star could !@#$ing suck the life and memories out of your !@#$ head by just !@#$ing making eye contact, instead of having to !@#$ing touch you, like the others. She fed off sealife and anything else she could get her !@#$ eyes on, and rowed back to shore, somehow. 

And then she !@#$ing blended in, using her skills to infiltrate the military in the best way she could. She let those degenerate !@#$s in the Japanese underworld take her off to the brothel, knowing she'd make military contacts once her skills were noticed. After that, it was Manchuria, Unit 731, the creation of GORGON for her own needs, and then she !@#$ing vanishes, leaving the Japanese high and dry just as the War's come back to their !@#$ing doorsteps. 

After that, the Imago had learned enough about human biology to be able to modify it to their needs. And their number one !@#$ing need was to open their prison up and let them all out. But the people who'd thrown them in there had been smarter than that: you couldn't get out (in !@#$ing theory, anyway) and you couldn't get in, either. Not without the !@#$ing key.

And that thing was well !@#$ hidden, thank you very !@#$ing much. 

So they went out into the world to try and find the !@#$ thing. And that's when GORGON came to be, as I understood it. Or at least !@#$ing thought I understood it. All the time they were doing crazy super-science-terrorist !@#$, they were actually looking for the Object. Which, now that I think about it, explains a whole !@#$ of a lot.

And when they weren't doing that, they were !@#$ing marshaling their forces, and copying their technology as best they could from outside the prison. They were also taking control of the things that their jailers had patrolling the outskirts of their !@#$ing city, just in case something came back to try and bust them out.

Yes, son. The DEROS. Those massive things weren't supposed to be in league with the Imago, or GORGON. They were supposed to be watchdogs. But I guess if you beat and feed someone else's dog long enough, it'll start calling you master. And that also explains a whole !@#$ of a lot.

So they took control of the outside of their jail as best as they could, and used the DEROS to provide energy and defense. And they made massive submarine bases around their new tools, and infested the !@#$ing Irian Jaya. All getting ready for the day they got their !@#$ turtles in a row, and could march them into the !@#$ing sea in triumph.

And then, at long !@#$ing last, they found it, and then they took it. They were able to go down and open the prison up, and let their people out.

Which is where the really sick !@#$ began.

...

So that's the last they got out of Green and Yellow, for that day. They had an hour recess, we all got some snacks and came back, and when they started back up again they got that withered old Dark Star !@#$ up on the stand.

Now, you have to remember, son -- this !@#$ is nasty. This is the one who can !@#$ing kill you by just !@#$ing looking at you. She's a stringy old crone, creeping up on being a !@#$ing century old. And yet, as frail as she looks, and as !@#$ed-up as she seems, she's all there and more upstairs. Her eyes are !@#$ing black, powerful pits, full of hate.

And her voice... Jesus !@#$ing Christ, that wet, overly-friendly voice. Even if you're not looking at the !@#$, it's enough to make your skin crawl off your body and go down the street for a !@#$ing drink.

But seeing her talk? Hearing those words come out of that mouth, with those eyes? 

Dear Jesus in Heaven, son. It's like watching the !@#$ing Exorcist for the first time all over again. And I know that !@#$ scared the !@#$ out of you.

The last time I saw that nasty !@#$ she was yanking my soul out of my !@#$ body, but at least she wasn't !@#$ing talking. Laughing, maybe, but dealing with evil, black laughter is kind of part of the !@#$ing job description.

But here I was, now, listening to her talk all !@#$ing afternoon, in that voice, about the planned genocide of the human race. And throughout it all she kept looking at me, and smiling, like there was some joke we were sharing.

I sure as !@#$ wasn't laughing, son.

* * *

Prosecution: So, Yasuda Aika-

Dark Star: I beg your pardon.

Prosecution: It is given.

(Laughter)

Judge: There will be order.

Prosecution: I beg your pardon, your Honor. I couldn't help it.

Judge: Noted. Please continue.

Prosecution: So you do not wish to be called the name of the girl you are... harnessing? Is that the right word for it?

Dark Star: That is correct. I am not her. She is within me, but I am not her, any more than you are the meal you had several years ago.

Prosecution: Does any of her still live within you?

Dark Star: Her memories, her ideas, her hopes and dreams. These are known to me, but they are not me, not any more than anyone else I have absorbed over the years. I keep those thoughts and memories locked up inside my head, like you keep your books on a shelf. I just happen to be wearing this one's dust jacket. 

Prosecution: I see. Thank you for explaining that.

Dark Star: You are so welcome. May I go, now?

Judge: If you do not wish to testify, you do not have to. But I will not let you back up here when you change your mind, seconds before sentencing.

Dark Star: I apologize. I was trying to make a joke. We should keep this lighthearted, should we not?

Prosecution: So, for the record, what should we call you?

Dark Star: You should call me by my rightful title, which I have earned. Absolute Black and Bright White.

Prosecution: It's quite a mouthful. Is Dark Star alright, at least for the purposes of this trial?

Dark Star: No it will not. You will either refer to me by my rightful title or you will refer to me by my true name.

Prosecution: I fear your true name is not pronounceable. But you have another name, do you not?

Dark Star: ... I have another title, yes.

Prosecution: And that title would be Leader.

Dark Star: Yes, I am the leader of the Imago. I once sat above The Motion, The Sight, The Fist, and The Dragon, and ruled your world while you sleepwalked. I am the one who spoke to you, first, on the day we assumed control. I am the one who arranged for the words to be said by others, and ordered your rewards or your punishment.

Prosecution: So you are... you are the one who developed the plan for what took place over the last year?

Dark Star: Yes, I am the one who condemned you all to die. Green and Yellow was merely our most popular spokesperson, and the one with special duties in the United States of America.

Prosecution: You condemned us to die. Personally.

Dark Star: I did.

Prosecution: And how... how was this death to be accomplished?

Dark Star: For some it was immediate, or nearly so. I am referring to the ones that were absorbed by our False Faces, or else the mentally-damaged ones that we Imago directly harnessed. Some were fortunate enough to be absorbed by one of us. Others were thrown into the Overmind, there to perform the tasks we needed the massive mutability of the human brain to accomplish. The editing of information at lightning speed over the internet, the altering of thought and idea, the endless surveillance. Things of that sort.

Prosecution: And for others?

Dark Star: The children who were sent to the harvesting boxes you thought were schools all died slowly, their memories and dreams leeched from them a little at a time. It was necessary for us to recharge on what they had to offer, and with the surplus we powered our special devices and engines.

Prosecution: What sort of devices?

Dark Star: Oh, come now. Did you not have a nice, new car, Mr. Prosecutor? Did you not wonder where the power really came from?

(Gasps, a stifled scream)

Judge: Order. There will be order in this court!

Dark Star: Every time you drove to the store, a child, somewhere, had its soul sliced open again. And when those children were of no further use, we turned them into servitors and had them process and tend to those children we had not yet gotten to.

Prosecution: My god. ... I...

Dark Star: Come now, good sir. You wanted to know the truth, so here it is. To us, you are raw materials. You are building blocks for an Empire to come. Your sense of self-worth is an ignorant indulgence that we do not care to indulge. You were made to serve those greater than you, just as those things that are lesser than you are yours to do with as you will. And if we chose to let some of you use the byproducts of our needs, well, I believe you sometimes feed your livestock some of what's left when you process them?

Prosecution: And was that what awaited us all? Processing?

Dark Star: Oh no. We only intended to harness the children, but by the end we would have gotten to them all. We planned to tell you that we needed the superior brains of growing children to help us come up with a plan to overcome the threat that was coming, but then we were going to take those children, harness their energies, and store them within our escape craft.

Prosecution: Like batteries? You were going to... all the children?

Dark Star: Yes. All the children. Everywhere. Babes out of the nurseries, even. No exceptions.

Prosecution: And what of the rest of us?

Dark Star: Well, we were just going to leave you, before you proved to be so troublesome at the end. After that, we decided to kill you all and make do with what we had.

Prosecution: But if we had not rebelled, you would have just left us in peace?

Dark Star: Of course! We would have had bodies and energy and a ship, and no need for you. We probably would have destroyed our installations from orbit, and caused Deep-Ten to explode just to be sure you didn't attack us from behind, if you regained your senses too soon. And, yes, we would have annihilated that cursed prison, too, which may have caused the Pacific to go horrendously toxic. But it wouldn't have mattered much.

Prosecution: Well, it would have mattered to us.

Dark Star: Perhaps. But we do not concern ourselves with those we no longer need. It would have been cleaner to kill you all, just to be sure you did not rise up to take revenge. But considering what you now face, you could sit and scream yourselves hoarse for all we cared. For soon you must die, as is the rightful fate of a weak race such as yourselves in the face of what's coming.

Prosecution: What do you mean? What is coming?

Dark Star: The thing we have hastened to escape, human. The massive threat that is even now coming closer to this world, as it has so many before. The thing that was here, once before, and is now on its way back. You might know it as Ragnarok, or Gotterdamerung, or the Decreator. But it is the (Unintelligible Concept) and it is on its way.

Prosecution: And how do you know this?

Dark Star: Other than simply feeling it in our bones, as you might say? We were given reliable intelligence.

Prosecution: Who by?

Dark Star: SPYGOD, of course.

* * *

You ever have one of those moments when  literally every eye in the room swivels and looks right the !@#$ at you, and there's no !@#$ing escape? And, worse of all, you have no !@#$ idea what they were !@#$ing talking about?

Yeah, that was my moment.

Back in a moment, son. Need to drain the alien sex machine. And then some more beer, I think.

A lot more.

(SPYGOD is listening to Opium (Dead Can Dance) and having a Castelain Grand Cru, or ten)

9/19/12 - A Monument to the Ruined Age - Pt. 5

Keeping up, son?

I sure hope so. We can't !@#$ing afford to be caught out here by those metal-plated !@#$holes. Not only is it going to lead to a big !@#$ fight I'm not sure I can win, here and now, but the best weapon I got going for me, right now, is being dead.

And if they actually see me, well... there's that gun gone. Right before I really got to !@#$ing fire it, too.

Eh, don't worry about the security cameras and TV screens. That's what I was really doing, earlier, when I was walking around Beijing to clear my !@#$ head. I was really picking a safe route though the city, son. And I think I got the perfect one to get us to where we need to go, tonight.

Yeah, yeah -- alleys and tunnels and rooftops. Go !@#$ing figure. Kind of like Berlin after the War, minus the fog, supercommies, and pretzels.

And plus those Imago !@#$ers, which is really what we've been talking about all !@#$ night long, huh? Unit 731 plus Dark Star equals False Faces. False Faces plus Indonesia equals GORGON. And then GORGON plus the Object plus the city under the waves equals Imago.

And Imago plus 3/15 equals a big bag of !@#$ that we get to wade through for what may be a very !@#$ing short rest of our lives, unless we're careful, and !@#$ quick. And very !@#$ing lucky.

But that's me babbling like a !@#$ing brook, son. Let's get back on track here, while we wait for that Silver and Blue !@#$er I saw earlier to pass us on by, up here on this nice roof with its body-blocking, highly inefficient air conditioners.

Let's talk about The Object, itself.

What's the Object? Well, that's a good !@#$ question, now isn't it? Not a whole lot of people know it even !@#$ing exists, and no one's really been brave enough to try and study the !@#$ thing. And people who do tend to die.

And !@#$ing badly, son.

You see, it's one of those cosmically nasty kinds of things that really have no !@#$ing business even being in this reality. They come through and land here, and !@#$ up the landscape, and turn anyone and anything nearby into a mockery of what they'd been, before. And anyone smart enough to realize it tends to do anything they can to lock it the !@#$ away, if only to save others from !@#$, and possibly save the entire world.

Things like poor Gilligan's mask, if you want a more recent example. That god!@#$ed chunk of metal that turned him from a mild-mannered, decent man into a !@#$ing monster from beyond space and time. We thought we could control it, but we were wrong, and it took me decades to be able to !@#$ing deal with it.

Decades, son. And you don't want to know how much collateral !@#$ing damage I have on my plate from that thing alone-

Whoop! Duck.

...

Okay, think it's gone.

Now, that was Blue and Silver, again, but last time I saw him he was headed away from the center of town. Now it's gone back, again. Is it establishing a !@#$ perimeter?

Hmm.

Anyway, onward. Couple of blocks this way, I think... yeah. Keep it going, son. We're doing fine.

So anyway, this nasty thing that should not be appears, messes up the landscape for miles around, and attracts the attention of some !@#$ smart people. They realize it's a big disaster, and post guards around the edges of the zone of disruption. And it's so !@#$ing dangerous, they actually !@#$ing sealed it up.

That's right, son -- wise men in Africa invented the closed city concept ages before the Soviets did. They took their best, most dedicated soldiers, teamed them up with farmers and craftsmen, and saw to it that they lived, worked, and died inside a closed area of the jungle, just outside the distortion zone. They worked there, and never left, and had strict orders to !@#$ing kill anyone who didn't come to them with certain words and objects, for only they were allowed to see the Object.

After that, and a few sad but necessary deaths, there was only one man who knew !@#$ing anything about this thing, and he went so !@#$ far underground that most people today don't even know his real !@#$ing name. It's probably no small thing to say that we owe our lives to the Wandering Shadow and his family, because they kept that secret safe for thousands of years. He took the objects and words into his care, and then acted to stop or kill anyone who went looking for that !@#$ing thing.

And there were a lot of them, son. Too many to count.

You see, that's the weird thing about this thing. It sends dreams. People half the world away go to sleep and dream of strange cities, full of riches. And they just know, somehow, that the city is somewhere in !@#$ing Africa. They just have to go and find it.

Now, not every person out there that gets these dreams can do anything about it. But some can. And some of those dreamers are able to interpret what they see in their mind when they're !@#$ing konked out. So they stage expeditions, get money and helpers, and before you know it, they're trudging through the !@#$ing Congo, looking for gold pyramids and rubies as big as !@#$ houses, or something.

So what does the Wandering Shadow do? Intercept them. He does his best to !@#$ with their supply chains, send them down the wrong paths, mess with their maps, give them diseases. Anything this man has to do to stop them from getting to the jungle, and risk they actually overcoming the guards, he does. No matter how hard, how bloody, how brutal.

And when World War II happens, and the Nazis start searching the world for objects of power? The man figures out a way to trick the Allies into intercepting the Germans before they even get within 100 !@#$ miles of the edge of the disruption zone. He actually !@#$ing impersonates Field Marshal Harold Alexander to pull it off, and does it so well that no one knew what had happened until well after the !@#$ war was over. 

He's a man's man, this Wandering Shadow. I actually admire the son of a !@#$. All of them. 

Anyway, it gets to be the 1960's, and the world's gotten too !@#$ big to keep a secret like that, anymore. They can !@#$ing see the sealed off area of the jungle from space, now. Europe and Russia and America are all fighting over who gets to politically influence Africa, and it's only a matter of time before someone finds the distortion zone, and tries to exploit it.

And this time they might be more powerful than even the Wandering Shadow and his family to deal with.

So the current Wandering Shadow finally reveals himself to the right people in power in Africa. Then he goes to the ancestors of the guards of this weird-!@#$ thing, and shows them the proper objects and words. Turns out they're a hardy lot, these guards, and he takes the best of them back to civilization, and they become part of what eventually becomes the Organization of African Unity's strategic talents organization, BUSH. 

Oh yes, son. Them. The incompetent mother!@#$ers who didn't know what the !@#$ they were doing when it came to matters on this planet, but were amazingly expert on dealing with threats from outer space. There was a time when an ET couldn't even !@#$ing fart without them knowing about it.

But one of their primary jobs was to look after the blasted area of the jungle, and the Object within it. That job fell to the guards who'd come back from the edge of the distortion zone, and in that area BUSH did not !@#$ up. At all. They put more guards around the central guards, and locked the !@#$ing thing down like a champ. Missile banks, big guns, certain strategic talents whose only purpose was to watch the skies, the land, and what lay below...

Speaking of which? On your belly, now.

...

Him again? I wonder what the !@#$ he's up to? Is this a regular patrol?

Well, never mind. Let's keep going, son. 

The Object was secured for more years, thanks to BUSH. But, eventually, that organization turns into a !@#$ing textbook case of just about everything bad about modern Africa. Political infighting, political incest, naked aggression, and dumb mistakes cripple their credibility, but given the complicated !@#$ing web of loyalties and statures of those involved, you can't just get rid of it. It takes a massive !@#$ing thing to do that.

That massive !@#$ing thing happens in 2002, when the African Union supersedes the Organization of African Unity's. At that time, a number of things that people didn't like come under the microscope, including BUSH. So, web of loyalties and simmer conflicts be !@#$ed, they get partially replaced by NGUVU.

I say partially because some African countries still liked those !@#$ing idiots, and helped keep them around. Sadly, that included the current Wandering Shadow, who had a nasty feud going with the family of the man who was tapped to run NGUVU. And you can imagine this makes it difficult to deal with questions about what to do with the Object.

So what happens? NGUVU !@#$ing take the thing from where it was, and put it into a new facility. But people can't know what it is, or why, because that would be really !@#$ing bad. So, to ensure that no one knew what was really going on there, the only people who did, including the guards, were subjected to a very !@#$ing dangerous neurochemical treatment, the Seyoum treatment.

What's that? Well, it's pretty !@#$ ingenious, son. It buries the information so far down in your brainmeat that no one, not even the best psychic you can get your hands on, can !@#$ing get to it. The only way to unlock it is to take a drink of this nasty, top secret concoction that will probably turn your brains to goo rather than get the secrets out.

So you know you know something, but you can't remember it for the life of you, and what you'd have to do to remember it would probably !@#$ing kill you. How's that for secrecy in the modern world?

Well, we saw how well that worked, anyway. The head of BUSH gets taken into custody after I smash them for what they did to my kids. Then NGUVU lets him !@#$ing escape, just to see what kind of a weird deal he had going with and against GORGON. Then he winds up dead, with his brain wiped, and we find out the hard way that Dark Star can crash though the Seyoum Treatment with no !@#$ problem whatsoever.

And that's that, right? So much for !@#$ing African unity, and score one for the bad guys. 

So where do we come into all of this? Well, that's an interesting !@#$ story. How about we hide in this alley while I tell you?

Yeah, this smells !@#$ing great, son. Rotten cabbage and burned wet cardboard. Or maybe it's the dinner special. !@#$ if I know. There's places here where they pickle eggs in urine and sell them to you.

Anyway, me. Having this eye in my !@#$ing head, it opens up my mind to a whole lot of !@#$ that really doesn't make a lot of !@#$ing sense. At least not at first. Maybe later, after a few beers or some thought, or maybe !@#$ing years later, it'll finally hit me.

And when I finally saw that that city in the waves looked like? I got hit, son. Hard.

You see, when NGUVU moved the Object? I was !@#$ing there.

Oh yes, son. I was. They didn't know it then and they sure as !@#$ don't know it, now, but I got wind that something really big was on the move, in that one spot where BUSH had people on guard. So I figured there had to be something in there worth guarding, and kept an ear open for big projects around the continent.

After that, it was just a matter of being in the right place in the right one at the right time to see what all the !@#$ fuss was about. Sure enough, I laid low long enough, and was rewarded by being in the chamber when they !@#$ing brought it in. Three remote controlled robots trundled it in, carrying it in a clear plastic case, treating it like it might !@#$ing explode at any moment. And then they left it there and scooted out as fast as they could, leaving me all alone with it.

I saw it, son. I saw the Object, itself, and it was a strange, shifting piece of thin, coppery metal. I saw how it waved and curled at the edges, like it was a flag caught waving in the breeze, and slowed down. I heard it singing with a voice like a hyena crying, distorted and warped underwater, and then echoed across the stars.

And in my mind, I saw the same !@#$ thing that all those explorers and conquerors and treasure seekers must have seen. Temples and pyramids and towers, columns and slabs, arches and aqueducts. All time periods, all civilizations, all places lost and found, reflected within it.

The genius of all lost cities, there in my minds eye. Maybe the lost archetype of all great human settlements, sending out ideas to architects and artists throughout the ages, informing their hands as they shaped clay and drew plans.

And it promised me wealth and power if only I could get there and take it.

So I left that chamber as quickly as I could, son. I knew that, whatever the !@#$ this was, it was something best left alone. Something that should not have !@#$ing been on our planet at all.

I was !@#$ing petrified, son, and I still am.

But I wasn't so scared that I couldn't realize what I was seeing. It wasn't just some weird thing sending out dreams, son. It was the key to that fantastic city, and, more importantly, it was the map to get there.

And my eye told me where that map was leading, son. The Pacific Ocean. Not that far from where we had it out with Gorgon, back in February. 

And if I hadn't been !@#$ing distracted and second-guessing myself, back then, I would have known the !@#$ we were about to stumble into, down there.

So yes, son. That city that's risen above the waves? GORGON found it a long time ago, but they needed the key to really unlock it. And once they had the Object, they needed only get the rest of their plan into action in order to wake it the !@#$ up.

Which means that Dark Star wasn't !@#$ing lying about there being a treasure trove of weapons and tech down there. It just means that maybe she wasn't an alien, after all.

Maybe she was out there at sea, capsized, and her power picked that traumatic moment to wake up. Maybe she ran into one of the aliens from that city. Maybe she drank down his memories and became him, or her, and knew all that he knew.

And maybe she's been doing everything possible since then to wake that city up, somehow.

"Maybe." I !@#$ing hate that word, son. It's so !@#$... diffident. Uncommitted. It just says that you don't know something really !@#$ing important, and that you're left with guesswork and hunches.

But it's not a hunch to say that GORGON was connected, all along, to something !@#$ing alien, there under the waves. And they've been working towards getting that alien city up here since then, and finally !@#$ing succeeded.

And now... now we see what they're really !@#$ing up to, now don't we?

...

Okay, and this is our stop, right here. I am going to go into this building, and meet with someone I really !@#$ing need to talk to. And you are going to wait right here, in this nasty-smelling trash can, until I !@#$ing come out.

Yeah, yeah. It stinks in there. Better than being found by the Imago, right?

I thought so. Try not to throw up, son.

(SPYGOD is listening to Walking with Shadows (Gary Numan, extended mix) and having something with someone you don't want to meet)

9/19/12 - A Monument to the Ruined Age - Pt. 4

You hear that, son?

Yeah. That. The silence, out there, late at night in this city. Curfew's from two in the AM to six in the AM. No one's supposed to be out on the !@#$ing streets, much less looking out the !@#$ windows.

Me, I don't have to risk !@#$ing vanishing. I can just sit here and listen, and hear more than I really !@#$ing want to.

I can see the lights flickering, here in this !@#$ room. But I can hear the power being diverted. A steady, electric river, leading right out of town to that !@#$ing facility the Imago built, over in Luanping.

Yeah, son. The big, white box no one wants to !@#$ing look at. The one with a five of those metal-plated !@#$ers floating above it like angels on a !@#$ing Christmas tree.

The one that lights up like there's a big !@#$ rave going on, there, every night. Two in the AM to six in the AM, it's weird-!@#$ lights and strange !@#$ing noises.

And as for what goes on there, well... I can't hear everything, but I can !@#$ing hear enough. 

...

This world needs to be free, son. Soon. And as soon as I get the !@#$ing power, I will by God be the one to free it from these !@#$s.

Anyway. Beer. Swig it down, and let's consider the power we do have, so far. And that would be information, courtesy of the People's Republic of China, and their tendency to not know what to keep and what to throw down the !@#$ing shredder.

(Lucky for them old SPYGOD helped them out with some well-placed incendiary devices, huh?)

So now we've got proof positive that, unbeknownst to us previously, there was a definite connection between Japan's nasty body horror science facility, Unit 731, and GORGON, by way of Dark Star, the memory-eater.

We know that Dark Star has a really interesting !@#$ing story, including tales of having escaped from some water-logged spacecraft in the middle of the !@#$ing Pacific. A spacecraft filled with tech and weapons that could put Japan miles ahead in the !@#$ war, and maybe even win them the !@#$ing world, too.

Now, it later turns out that this might not have been completely !@#$ing true, courtesy of some digging on behalf of the whore-mongering officer who found and recruited her. But the truth comes so !@#$ late that the Japanese can't do anything about it before a certain Fat Man and Little Boy come around to !@#$ up their !@#$, and end the war.

But we never find out about this, do we? We arrange to have General Shiro Iichi, and some of his other Unit 731 alumni, hidden from view and shielded from postwar prosecution for the sick !@#$s they are because they had such well-documented information about spreading diseases, amongst other disgusting things. And to his dying day, he never !@#$ing says anything about this sick !@#$, and what she was doing there.

Now, the real question is, did the Soviets ever learn? They rounded up a bunch of fleeing Japanese scientists, put them on trial for the deaths of their Chinese allies, as well as their own people, and sent them off to work in a !@#$ing katorga. But they confiscated every !@#$ thing they found on those people, and we know they !@#$ing "debriefed" them, before and during their stay at the Siberian Sheraton.

And we know about the Anthrax outbreak at Sverdlovsk, in 1979. Boy do we ever !@#$ing know about that.

So do the Russians know a little more about this than they're letting on? Well, maybe. And maybe I should !@#$ing look into that, when I have the time...

But, important things first. We now also know that the first False Faces were made at Unit 731, by Dark Star, with Shiro Iishi watching and loving every !@#$ing moment of it. Which fits with the timeline I had before, after other Strategic Talents came back from the War and told me that they !@#$ing ran into !@#$ False Faces in the South Pacific, during that time.

Now, since that predated the existence of GORGON by about twenty !@#$ing years, we were never sure if it was a coincidence, or if maybe GORGON had stolen its considerable tech from someone else. After all, these were primitive ones, comparatively speaking. They didn't have replicator masks or bionic eyes, back then, and their suicide charges were shoved up into their !@#$ing guts, rather than in their eyes.

We also weren't sure if they were working for the Japanese or not. And now we know why. The High Command had no !@#$ing idea that Dark Star was sending these people out into the field. Everything they did was done for her.

Point of interest: most of the time my allies ran into those !@#$ers, it was in and around Indonesia. And where do Dark Star, Thunder, and Lightning vanish into the jungles of, just two months before the end of the War?

That's right. The Irian Jaya, better known as West Papua. Gold star, son. Have another beer.

So, time goes !@#$ing by, and then GORGON shows up in the 60's, along with a few other groups of science terrorist !@#$holes. We think they're just another such group, at first, but then we find out how they recruit people, and what their driving forces are, and we realize that we've got a real !@#$ing problem on our hands.

But, thankfully, we've got a system and they seem to stick with it. We spy on them, they spy on us, we all spy on each other at Outland, and things don't get too !@#$ing out of hand too often.

At least until I change the rules of the !@#$ing game by refusing to play, anymore. And then they get really !@#$ nasty, really !@#$ quick.

And when I do encounter them, after I !@#$ over ABWEHR, and decide to go after them, next, rather than HONEYCOMB, I make two interesting discoveries. The first being that they somehow managed to turn Deep Ten into their communications hub, which brings up a whole lot of nasty !@#$ing questions I didn't have the heart to ask Director Straffer.

And the second is that their False Faces are using gauss rifles that are just !@#$ing magnificent pieces of work, and unquestionably alien in manufacture. At the time, I figure they made a deal with some !@#$ing bunch of squidgy ET salesmen at a previous OUTLAND, and go back to defending my fine, gay !@#$ from certain doom.

I just barely !@#$ing get that fine, gay !@#$ out of there. And, after what happens, we eventually get back to tracking them down, and find out that the !@#$ers swarmed out of the bowels of West Papua, and evaced into submarines of uncertain make and model.

Alien-looking submarines, son. And they vanish into those !@#$ing tunnels that riddle certain parts of the floor of the Pacific Ocean, making tracking them !@#$ing impossible. Oh, and they're full of DEROS, too, so there's that.

A whole bunch of other !@#$ happens, and some of that does not need to be retread over. But, bottom line, we finally get up and go after their !@#$es, and we get ours handed to us. They've been down in those tunnels forever, it seems, and they have total !@#$ing control over the DEROS.  And I'm left with a broken Flier, a crew on the edge of mutiny, and a President who decides that now's a good !@#$ time to bench me.

More !@#$ing things happen that we don't really need to retread over. Have another !@#$ing beer, son.

Now, jump ahead to 3/15. GORGON has !@#$ing infiltrated everywhere, especially in America, where a whole generation of high-tech, anonymous soldiers called Specials turn out to be !@#$ing False Faces.
Then they cripple all world governments, using a worldwide collection of useful idiots who thought they were being handed the keys to their respective kingdoms.

They take over Deep Ten, and use it to blow the !@#$ out of anything that could be used as an air or space based weapon. And then, finally, the !@#$ Imago show up, displaying powers of teleportation and near-invulnerability to weapons. And everyone in those surviving governments gets told they were saved, except in America, where they're actually willing to be !@#$ing honest, since there's nothing the former Administration can do about it but look brave.

For all the good that !@#$ing does them.

...

And then, out of the middle of the !@#$ing Pacific, not too !@#$ far from where we fought that one, sorry battle against them, and lost, a strange city comes out of the waves...

Now, son. I know you remember my concerns about the Object, over in Africa. Remember when I found out that NGUVU more or less let its location slip to persons unknown, and how I just !@#$ing knew that GORGON was behind it?

Well, son, I am one of the few people on this Earth who actually saw the !@#$ thing, and knew where it !@#$ing was. And that just about cements my understanding as to what actually !@#$ing happened, here, with Dark Star and GORGON and that !@#$ing city.

And like I said, son. We had no !@#$ing how bad GORGON was. Not until now.

...

Come on, son. Grab a beer. We're gonna go break !@#$ing curfew, you and me, just for laughs.

That and I think we'll talk better on the go. I suddenly have a bad !@#$ing feeling about all of this.

And I know it's not a good idea to ignore any of that.

(SPYGOD is listening to Coming Up (The Cure) and having yet more Beijing Gold)