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 )

12/16/12 - The Big !@#$ Story So Far - !@#$ing House Arrest Edition

SPYGOD.

Immortal. Superpowered. Drunk.

Highly conservative. Queer as !@#$. Out as Hell.

The man who killed Hitler with his bare hands, rescued the world too many times to count, and saved the lives of three... no, wait, make that four Presidents, mother!@#$er. FOUR.

(But, yes, had to shoot one.)

Director of The COMPANY, tasked with handling (and occasionally killing) America's Strategic Talents.


The man who just masterminded the saving of the entire !@#$ing world from an old enemy no one knew was that dangerous and deadly. 

And now... is under !@#$ing House Arrest? Seriously? 

...

Okay, obviously we need to back the !@#$ up a bit, here. Maybe all the way to !@#$ing Mongolia, or something.

But you know what happened before, right? How GORGON framed SPYGOD for the assassination of the President of the United States of America? How they then framed the United States of America for their own super-secret (and way too successful) plan to conquer the world, and then pretend to be its saviors? How they masqueraded as the friendly, technologically-advanced Imago to put the world at ease, and told them to just deal with the inconveniences (some more inconveniencing than others) because some terrible world-destroying threat was coming right for Earth?

And then, you know all the crazy-!@#$, !@#$ed-up !@#$ that happened right after... right?
 
Well, okay then.

So SPYGOD comes back from his weird, parallel-future experience with Jim Morrison's parallel-future self, in which he saves the parallel-future world, kills an evil parallel-future Jesus, and gets !@#$ing killed, himself, and then has something else happen that he really does not want to !@#$ing talk about, yet. And he's full of !@#$ and vinegar, now, and gets it into his head that he and the President of the United States of America are going to team up and save the !@#$% world, together, because he's the only rock-steady ally he's got.

(Or at least the only one he can !@#$ing boss around, now.)

Needless to say, this means SPYGOD's got to turn the President into a lean, mean, killing machine. Lucky for him, he's got a captive audience and special, somewhat-dangerous Soviet drugs. So for a few days, the poor guy gets the Matrix kung fu treatment at scenic Camp !@#$ You Up, Mongolia, only for real, and by the end of it he's actually good enough to hand SPYGOD his !@#$, for real.

Now, while that's going on, a few other things are happening, and these are all pretty !@#$ important.

One big thing is that METALMAID, who's suckered no less than Zalea Zathros (brainwashed into stupid complacency by the Imago's e-television signals) into becoming her personal !@#$ arms manufacturer, has hit upon the great !@#$ing idea of going to OUTLAND and hooking up with some super villain sugardaddy. This way she can take over the whole !@#$ world from the Imago, so she can get on with trying to !@#$ing kill SPYGOD, which she's been failing to do for a long !@#$ time now.

The plan doesn't go too !@#$ing well, unfortunately, but she does meet a cool, fellow, would-be world-conqueror calling himself the Violet Demon, and actually almost does a !@#$ deal with him. Except that, of course, that's when this creepy old !@#$ named Doctor Kyklops (who used to run with METALMAID's creator, Doctor Morbo, back in the day) decides to buy her services.

What's a cuckolded super villain to do? In the Violet Demon's case, he takes it pretty !@#$ well, and covers for their rather explosive product demonstration, so she and the Doctor can go make a deal on his big !@#$ Jacques Cousteau sea-saucer just before the Imago show up and crash the party. And she !@#$ing goes back to Africa, there to crank out more !@#$ Slaughterbots for her questionably-sane (but super-!@#$-rich) partner.

(Who, incidentally, really wants to get in her !@#$ing pants.)

While that's going on, a whole bunch of remaining heroes, strategic talents, and hangers-on are converging on B.A.S.E.C.A.M.P. 4. It's a mini-parallel Earth just like B.A.S.E.C.A.M.P. 3, where the SPYGOD SCOUTS used to have their yearly Saturnalia jamboree things. But that one got "compromised" then the Imago took over, so now, they're all in the spare backup version, with people like Mark Clutch, and Myron and Winifred (who are seeing each other, now). And they've joined forces with the Toon Nation, all acting under the commands of some blonde !@#$hole in a loud ascot named Fred.

(Oh, and everyone's taking orders from some weird, masked guy who's supposed to be the leader of the resistance. Except that no one knows who the !@#$ he is, but he's supposedly acting under SPYGOD's orders... whatever they are.)

So they're joined by a bunch of Supers from the Middle East and Northern Africa. Some of whom we've met before (The Fist, The Lion, The Wall) and some of whom are totally !@#$ing new, and might only be notable because they've !@#$ing lived in spite of the Imago hunting them the !@#$ down.

Oh, yeah, and the Green Man's there, too. The last we saw him he was stumbling around in a daze after Chinmoku did something to him in Key West, and now he's back to normal, but more !@#$ing !@#$ed-off than ever before. Which is really !@#$ scary, under the circumstances, and given what he can actually do.

And he's there to look after Thomas Samuels, who was badly maimed the night the Owl Nest was destroyed, just before 3/15. It turns out Thomas is actually his son, by way of Martha Samuels, who's the Owl, now. And given that the Green Man killed her brother, earlier in his career as a revolving-door supervillain, is really !@#$ strange.

(Hopefully someone will !@#$ing explain that !@#$ to me, at some point?)

Anyway. There's also the international super-spies, like Dosha Josh and Mikhail and everyone else, who aren't too numerous anymore. They meet up at this special Bar in the ladyboy sector of Bangkok to compare notes, mostly to talk about what happened to Israel, which wasn't !@#$ing pretty.

Only the meeting gets crashed by the Thai secret police, who are in league with the Imago for !@#$ only knows what reason. Oh yeah, and one of those crazy-!@#$ flying vampire women who have their guts hanging out of their neck when they go out hunting blood tries to take them out, and actually splashes the guy from MI-whatever. Long complicated story, especially since Dosha and Anil kind of set them all up, sort of. Luckily, Dr. Krwi the Polish, bad!@#$ vampire hunter showed up and saved their !@#$ing bacon, but now they're all on the same page, again. Maybe. 

Okay, so you got all that? I sure hope so, because here's where it starts to get !@#$ing complicated. And nasty, too.

First off, SPYGOD does a really !@#$ bad thing to the Imago's fancy space elevator, using a group of crazy terrorists and a high-tech bomb. That stunt gets a few people killed then, and then a whole bunch more slaughtered by the Imago when they go looking for answers. Of course, SPYGOD's not too !@#$ing happy about that, but it's not like he didn't know that might happen, or take precautions.

And the real !@#$ of it was that all that was just a !@#$ing distraction. The real action was going on up in China, where the President made "friends" with the Chinese Premier, who was something of a massive !@#$ing wuss. Thanks to their "understanding," which you can bet was one-sided as !@#$, SPYGOD was able to find out where some files on WWII Japanese intelligence he needed were stored, and broke in and took them.

What was in those files? !@#$ing everything. A really nasty story about Unit 731, which the Japanese set up in occupied Manchuria to supposedly study how to create and use plague weapons, but was actually a horror show butcher shop for the education of this sick !@#$ named Dark Star.

(You might remember her scary !@#$ from his bad-idea-jeans attempt to take out GORGON with a single squad and an unlucky strategic talent, last year? Old and nasty !@#$ with the power to suck your life and memories out?)

Anyway, it turns out, young and cute (but still !@#$ing deadly) Dark Star told the Imperial Japanese government a crazy!@#$ story about being an alien who could give them the kind of technology that would make them masters of the world. But they can't get down to her ship, on the bottom of the Pacific, without better tech than they have, so she offers to help them with that. Only she up and !@#$ing creates GORGON right under their !@#$ noses, which proves to be really !@#$ embarrassing to her handlers, especially when they realize their so-called space alien's actually a girl who was drowned, presumed dead, some years before...

Or was she? That's the thing, here. As !@#$ing crazy as all this !@#$ SPYGOD reads is, it makes perfect sense. It not only falls in line with everything that GORGON's been doing, all along, but it really falls in line with what they've been doing since SPYGOD decided to rid the world of its science terrorist organizations, the other year.

(And it explains why they wanted to get their hands on The Object, and why a certain city's poking up from the Pacific Ocean, right now...)

So now that he's got that information under his belt, he goes off to talk to Doctor Krwi, who just ended the vampire head woman that attacked the super-spies in Bangkok. Turns out SPYGOD did a deal with her, after the attack, and got her out of her bad, very one-sided relationship with her Thai handlers in exchange for a little favor. But you know how SPYGOD handles his favors, so the poor !@#$ is messed-up and crazy from her ordeal.

See, he had her infiltrate one of the Imago's massive, white cities to see what was going on in there. It was one of the "schools" they had all the kids in the region super-learning in, or so they said. In reality, it was a massive vampire of a building, with all the kids either having their life and memories sucked the !@#$ out of their bodies, or else hauling around the less fortunate because, having been drained themselves, that was all they were !@#$ing good for, anymore.

Yeah...

So you can imagine how bad this was for the poor vampire. Once she was in she couldn't get right back out again, and the Imago showed up to beat her down. And then, when she got tired of hiding and too !@#$ing hungry to think straight, she finally gave up following orders and tried to eat one of the kids. But the building fed on her, instead, though the kid, which is why she was insane and dying when Krwi found her, and why he put her out of her misery.

Of course, SPYGOD doesn't give a !@#$, because now he's got his intel. Only Dr. Krwi has had it with his !@#$, and actually makes him give her last human victim a decent burial.

(Yeah, yeah. Super-drama. It happens in this business.)

Of course, by then SPYGOD's got another piece of the puzzle, but he's still working on the whole plan. So he goes to Russia, and abducts the former Russian President, who's been in hiding since 3/15, and "persuades" him to take him to where they warehoused the files they took from Unit 731 at the end of the War. SPYGOD figures that if he's going to find a weakness in GORGON, or the Imago, he'll find it there.

So they take the train over to Yekaterinburg, which used to be Sverdlovsk, which was a big-time closed city back during the Cold War, to go find those things, because that's where the Ruskies put them for whatever reason. Somehow, the Imago find out and blow the !@#$ out of the train, when it gets into the station, but SPYGOD knows what's going on, down the tracks, and gets them off it just before it happens. And he figures that the Chinese Premier's finked on them, which would be no real surprise.
 
(That and the Chinese Premier's got really big !@#$ing problems of his own, but more on that a little later. Promise.)

So SPYGOD and the Russian President get to an empty room, and the Imago show up, right on cue. It turns out the fink was the Russian President, all along. He confesses that he did it all so he could escape Earth's fate when that big dark something showed up to eat the planet. And the Imago cops to the fact that their "invasion" was really an escape.

Oh yeah, while all this was going on we learned, courtesy of Winifred's memories finally coming back to her, that the Imago are apparently energy-beings in metal spheres who have been taking over human bodies all this time. Mostly all those missing mentally retarded people the Imago took away "to help" early on. Poor Winifred found this out the hard way by breaking into the special death-Olympics' slaughterhouse, and she'd blocked it out, not that you can blame her.

(Of course, this means her relationship with Myron is !@#$ing borked, but what can you do?)

And while all this is going on up in Russia, the American President is trying to shoot the Chinese Premier, down in Beijing, just to make sure he doesn't get nabbed and made to squeal on them. Only he !@#$ing hesitates for one second too many, and the Imago !@#$ing show up to make sure the Premier's okay.

And get this -- that stool pigeon is so !@$#ing sure they know he sold them out to SPYGOD (because he's sure his really big !@#$ing problem told them) that he actually spills the beans on himself, Tell-Tale Heart-style. And it's all the President can do to try and shoot the poor guy, but the Imago are floating in his way, and...

Well, that's when things get weird.

You see, we don't actually know how SPYGOD got out of that empty room, and out from under yet another orbital strike from Deep-Ten, once again blamed on terrorists in league with the big space nasty.

(The Imago said the same thing a little earlier when they torched a lot of LA, trying to get The Owl and The Talon. Luckily, they missed them, but it was a near !@#$ thing, and yet another sign that the people in control of the world are not even remotely !@#$ing reasonable. At all.)

But the next thing we know, SPYGOD's in Japan, meeting with the superspies in some crazy bar where everyone dresses up like !@#$ing SPYGOD, or COMPANY AGENTS, or folks like that. He's got things he needs them to do, and whatever he tells them is !@#$ scary, even to them. And it's all part of his big !@#$ plan, which he's still assembling on the fly out of a dozen or so smaller !@#$ plans, all rat-mazed into one another in a big !@#$ing flow chart that only he gets to look at. 

After that, he hooks back up with the American President, who got to Japan earlier to deal with Mister 10, from Organization 10. Whatever SPYGOD's big !@#$ plan is, it apparently requires getting his hands on some really big !@#$, crazy-!@#$, re-purposed (or just plain stolen) E.T. weaponry, which is what Organization 10 and all its !@#$ing predecessors (Organization 9, Organization 8, and so on) have been looking after since !@#$ only knows when.

Unfortunately, Mister 10 is this crazy, Yakuza mother!@#$er with a perky young assistant, no sense of humor, and no time to waste on outside persons, especially under the current circumstances. But they somehow manage to get him to hand over use of something really !@#$ powerful and scary, mostly because the President actually knows how to !@#$ing negotiate.

(Yeah, who would have !@#$ing thought, huh?)

Oh, and while all that's going on? That creepy, old, robot-bothering super villain !@#$ Doctor Kyklops decides to declare war on the Imago with the Slaughterbots that METALMAID, got for him. Apparently, if it'd been up to him, he'd have just built his stores up to Wagnerian heights and banged his metal love toy, but The Violet Demon talked her into telling him it was time to !@#$ or get off the !@#$ pot, and !@#$ he did. Unfortunately for him, he really just !@#$ the bed, and the so-called Kyklops War was all over within 48 !@#$ing hours.

But still, that's depleted the Imago's resources, just a bit. And this is just after they got caught killing civilians on live TV after something really bad went down just outside Neo York City with the Black Card and Whisper (remember her?).

And that was all courtesy of the Masked Leader of the Resistance, who's apparently been flying through !@#$ing time and space with some weird guy. And he's been setting a number of things into motion, in places in Africa, and the Kingdom, and Neo York City, and God only knows where the !@#$ else. And none of these things they do are anything that SPYGOD actually knows about, but all of them are things that lead up to his big !@#$ rat-maze of a plan. 

(Which is really !@#$ funny if you think about it, just don't expect SPYGOD to want to !@#$ing laugh)

Okay, so you got all that? Good. Because this is where it all comes together and tries to sing a song for a  charity record.

The day comes to take back the planet, and SPYGOD's got just about every last !@#$ thing he could pull out of the bag pulled out. He's got all the strategic talents we knew about, and a bunch only he ever knew about waiting in the wings (including the Violet Demon, who turns out to have been New Man's son, all along). He's got the weird armies of the world all ready to go. He's dressed to the 9s and has his playlist all cued up, and weapons you've never even heard of before jammed into his dress every which way but sideways.

And as soon as he kills the entire !@#$ internet (which is what had all the super spies spooked) he gets ready to roll out his stolen supernazi UFO, and pull the curtain back on this massively !@#$ing powerful giant robot that Organization 10's been hiding in plain sight since whenever-the-!@#$ A.D. and march it all the !@#$ way to the Lost City, there to smash the Flier to pieces.

Of course, with any luck, it won't be much of a fight. And that's because the primary plan is for the Toons to get six satellites from the folks at B.A.S.E.C.A.M.P. 4, and then launch them into orbit just after Deep-Ten's been turned off. The satellites are going to broadcast a signal that's a more powerful version of the one that Myron used to stun anything using GORGON technology on 3/15, and with luck that should !@#$ing knock out the Imago, the Specials, and anything else they've got on hand. With more luck, they'll stay !@#$ing knocked out.

Oh, and the person who's responsible for knocking Deep-Ten out? None other than Director Straffer, himself! Turns out he didn't die when the Imago took over his weapons platform. He just jumped out an airlock and aimed himself at the !@#$ Moon, which he can do since it turns out he's as cybernetic as he is queer (which is to say, "as !@#$.") He's been hiding at what's left of Alpha Base Seven since then, and coordinating with Freedom Force on what to do next, with the stipulation that no one tell SPYGOD it's him, or that he's alive, because he wants it to be a big surprise.

(Isn't that just !@#$ing romantic?)

Which would be a great plan, if only it had actually !@#$ing worked. You see, there's some big !@#$ problems, and they're all because of other people and their big !@#$ problems. And while the Masked Leader and his weird friend might have seen them coming, apparently it was all !@#$ that had to play out, one way or another, though they could do a little bit to help out, here and there.

(If that makes any !@#$ing sense...?)

Case in point? It turns out that one of the new Arabic Supers that was teleported over to B.A.S.E.C.A.M.P. 4 was none other than Moloch in disguise. He figured he'd get there, gum up the works at a critical moment, and then demand SPYGOD come there and die in exchange for his precious satellites. Fortunately, the Green Man had an idea that he was going to be fighting to save his son, and was prepared, so this big, back-and-forth battle rages across the treehouse as the good guys try to get the satellites away and Moloch keeps attacking, getting fought back, and creating new !@#$ bodies out of whatever metal's available.

Lucky for us, they finally get the satellites away. But no sooner do they launch them than things go !@#$ed up at the moon base. It turned out that the commander of the base wasn't so keen about having Straffer show up, boss her and her people around, and make them part of a plan that, if it went wrong, might get them all !@#$ing killed. So one of her people sneaks a bomb into the place where he's working, and it goes boom, and while Straffer lives through it, his device does not. 

(Neither does Alpha Base Seven, thanks to Deep-Ten seeing the explosion. Way to go, !@#$holes. Sometimes it really does make sense to just shut up and do what you're !@#$ing told, huh?)

So Deep-Ten is still live, and it not only shoots down the satellites, and Alpha Base Seven, but also starts shooting at the white boxes the Strategic Talents and weird armies are attacking. Before you can even blink, a lot of SPYGOD's plan is in the !@#$ing toilet.

Of course, that's when he decides to go forward, anyway, because there's nothing else he can do, so he tells the supers to converge on the white cities he was hoping they wouldn't have to touch, and tells Mister 10 to get the giant robot up and running.  And while Deep-Ten's trying to zap Tokyo, that perky young assistant turns out to be this massively powerful android from the future in disguise. And she's using her shields to keep Tokyo and the giant robot safe, but she can't keep that up for too !@#$ long.

Still, that's enough of a ego boost to the various weird armies, out there, to make them get off their !@#$es and stop hiding under rocks and go kick some !@#$. Which starts to really annoy the Imago, as you might expect, especially since they're losing a lot of their white cities. So they come up with a really nasty plan to deal with it, which involves snagging the First Family to use as hostages, and then telling the American President to end the war, or else.

(Yeah, I forgot to mention, he got on the TV once the internet went down and told everyone they had their brains back, and the revolution was happening. Not a bad !@#$ speech, either.)

Meanwhile, back at B.A.S.E.C.A.M.P. 4, the masked leader comes through to help them out, and turns out to have been Mr. USA all along! Which is really !@#$ weird, because the last we saw him he was on Alter-Earth, and being !@#$ing disappeared by this really powerful kid with dimensional powers and really serious anger management problems. But he's here, and he's !@#$ing old, but he's still got his powers, and uses them to kick Moloch's metal !@#$ all over the treehouse.

And, up in orbit, past the Moon, Director Straffer manages to get close enough to Deep-Ten to actually blow it the !@#$ up, which is not what he wanted to do, because it leaves the planet defenseless from outside threats. But under the circumstances, there was nothing else he could do, and that really should have killed him because he was linked to it, but he found a way to get out of it. Maybe.

Of course, that really horks the Imago off, so they decide it's time to stop being so nice. They send out every last Imago they can find, including ones that are what they really !@#$ing look like (which is not !@#$ing nice to look at) and start trying to genocide the whole !@#$ planet. And that's when SPYGOD gets all these kids that got powers in spite of the suppression drugs in the water to come out and kick their !@#$es, because it's literally now or never.

(He also calls this Native American shapeshifter named Gosheven, who we haven't !@#$ing seen in forever. Turns out he's been hiding on the Flier this entire time as a big cloud of sleeping, gay molecules or something, and now he's up and running, and he finds the original New Man, who we also haven't seen in forever. And they go off hand in hand to go !@#$ up some !@#$ for SPYGOD.)

SPYGOD also gets what few heroes he can get together in the central building in NYC to go get the First Family back, without letting the President know what's happened. (And after what happened in China, can you blame him?) Lucky for those few heroes, the B.A.S.E.C.A.M.P. 4 survivors show up in the exact same place, having barely escaped that reality from the third or fourth coming of Moloch. Green Man's dead, but his son's alive, and while some of the heroes break off to get to the Ice Palace, the rest go try to find something to save the kid, who's failing fast.

After that, it just comes down to blind !@#$ing luck. Poor Thomas gets put into a medical machine, but it "uploads" him instead of curing him. Lady Gilda gets shot out of the sky but SPYGOD's able to keep fighting. White Robot's able to handle the Flier's weapons, but the Flier's about to really crank up the firing solution. But then a bunch of War Spawn from the Kingdom finally !@#$ing get there and start destroying the city and drawing the Flier's weapons off the robot. And then New Man trashes the Flier's engine room, which just takes the !@#$ fight out of it.

And, in spite of something going really !@#$ wrong at the South Pole, because they just didn't get there fast enough, Myron's able to shut off the Imago, because they were !@#$ing stupid to guard their communications circuits. He just uploaded the signal he was going to put into those satellites into their radio feed, and boom, they all fell down.

And, except for a really tender reunion between SPYGOD and the thing that had killed and become The Dragon (He !@#$ed in his face until his skull melted) that was the end of the Reclamation War.

(...*whew!*)

So, by all rights, SPYGOD should be the man of the hour, here. He should be getting showered with medals, booze, and ladyboys. He should be leading The COMPANY, again, and being hailed as the man who saved the world, and ended the pall of terror it's been living under since World War II, when the science terrorist groups that came up out of that conflict started threatening the planet's safety and security every !@#$ time you turned around.

(And he really should be getting ready to deal with that oooga-booga threat from beyond space and time that's coming here, too. Not to mention the Alter-Earth SPYGOD, who's still out there, and no longer working with his former partner, masquerading as Geri Tomorrow {see, I told you we'd get back to her, sooner or later}. And who knows what Aaron and the Beautiful Stranger are up to...?)

And instead, he's under !@#$ing house arrest with his boyfriend and his cat, and not nearly enough beer to deal with this !@#$?

Something obviously went wrong, here. Maybe he didn't do enough? Maybe he didn't do the right things at the right time? Maybe something from his past came to light, at long last, and now he's got to pay?

Or maybe the world's changed too much for someone like him to be free in it...?

I guess we're going to !@#$ing find out, aren't we?

SPYGOD. He's an !@#$hole, but he's still our !@#$hole. And when the time came, that !@#$hole was ready and willing to save the whole !@#$ world.

Hopefully, someone can now save him from it. 

(SPYGOD is listening to Welcome To The Pleasure Dome (Frankie Goes to Hollywood, the full 40 minute version) and wondering where they stashed the !@#$ booze)

10/15/12 - The Reclamation War - Pt. 12

The particle cannon blasts continue to come, regular as clockwork. One hits Tokyo, then one hits the Dignitary, and another hits the glowing ball between the two, where an android that looks something like a young, Japanese girl floats in mid-air, maintaining a powerful shield over the city, the robot, and herself.

With each strike, the shield glows a little less. With each blast, it becomes clearer that she cannot keep this up for much longer. And while she's smiling widely -- some might say bravely -- it's also clear that her expression is more to do with appearing genki than actually anticipating a victory at this point. 

Something has to break, and soon. 

Just ahead of the giant, white robot that strides away from Tokyo, somehow walking above the waves, a flying saucer stolen from supernazis slowly makes its way out to sea. A large, strange-looking cat that speaks Russian is at its controls, keeping it well-clear of the blasts as they come down from the sky. And in the center of the flight deck, SPYGOD stands, watching as the war he's running comes down around his ears.

Too many of his people are dying. Too many of the supers he called to duty are being annihilated. Too many of the strange armies he bullied, cajoled, and blackmailed into action this day are looking at 75 to 100% losses. The commanders are braying for help he can't give, and suggesting new tactics that are just a pubic hair's breadth away from being surrender. 

And as he watched, and weighs his options, he becomes aware of his cat hissing, just before a sudden barrel roll almost lands him on his !@#$.

"What the !@#$ing !@#$, Bee-Bee?" he shouts, getting up. But then he looks at the main window, and sees why his cat decided to engage in mid-flight acrobatics.

"Well !@#$," he says, looking at what just appeared in firing range of his ship.

He doesn't know what to make of them, at least at first. The Chandra Eye sees them, but he has a hard time actually believing what it's showing him. It isn't until the strange, large, flapping things -- some weird, metal-plated mix of buzzard, wasp, and man -- start firing eyebeams at him that he realizes what's going on.

And, ultimately, what it could mean.

No time for that, now, though. He gets the idea, very quickly, that these newcomers are only firing at his ship because he's in the way of the Dignitary. Which means that they're trying to wear down its shields, so as to get a clear shot at it.

Which means they're fully aware of what the !@#$ is going to happen when the massive, white robot gets to their city and starts attacking it. And that, if nothing else, at least gives him some hope.

Still, it's a long way from Tokyo to there. And if the android's shields cut out, it'll be a !@#$ short trip.

"Well, then," he says, grabbing the big !@#$ gun Ju Kikan got him, and activating the magnets in his pumps: "Guess we're taking the big !@#$ party outside, huh?"

His cat just hisses, barrel-rolling yet again to avoid being hit by the bright-colored barrage of twinned beams. SPYGOD walks to the rear exit calmly, a leaf in the wind.

But, before he does, he realizes it's well past time to do something. He turns and looks off into the distance -- far, far away, where their destination hovers over the lost city they're heading for.

"Sleeper, awaken," he says, sending the signal through his eyesight.

And, that task done, he goes back to heading out of the flying saucer, and gets ready to kick some serious, metal space-!@#$, for America.

* * *

On the day everything went wrong, the Flier's nanites were hijacked, and the ship was reformed and remade from within. 

The traditional shape that had served it so well for so long was converted into something otherworldly and strange. A sleek, strangely-colored, giant metal insect, somewhere between butterfly and dragonfly, has been hovering over the Imago's lost city for the last seven months -- appearing otherworldly during the day, and glowing with strange hues from within at night.

During that time, many COMPANY Agents lost their lives as the ship's decks melted away to nothing, only to reform elsewhere. And those who did not die then and there were hunted down and killed later -- their bodies taken over by Falsefaces.

So, for the last seven months, the Imago have been secure that this ship is now theirs. They believe that they can let their hair down, so to speak, and be themselves amongst themselves, there. They feel that they are safe, and that no one and nothing can harm them, let alone see them.

They would be wrong -- after a fashion, anyway.

In the prisoner cells (the one part of the ship that has seen no use since 3/15) something is stirring. A wave is seen in the air, followed by an ephemeral form, floating well off of the ground. The form slowly but surely gains depth, and then something approaching substance. And then it has arms, legs, a trunk, and a head.

And then clothes befitting someone who's just awoken after a nap lasting several months.

"I'm awake," the slightly pudgy, Native American man says, shaking his head to make sure he's not dreaming this, too: "I'm inside the Flier, I think."

You are, Gosheven, SPYGOD replies, speaking in a voice only the metamorph can hear.

"Well, I sure don't recognize the place. Did they remodel-"

Never !@#$ing mind that, now, you !@#$ing goofball, the voice of SPYGOD growls in his mind's ear: You're in the belly of a real beast, now. The enemy I wanted you there to hide out and deal with is now awake, and they turned my Flier into a !@#$ing modern art sculpture. 

And you !@#$ing know how much I hate modern art.

"Yeah, I remember reading when you threw Warhol through one of his soup can paintings..." 

It was a Marilyn, and we don't have !@#$ing time for that. You are surrounded by otherworldly enemies. Your assignment is to find out what they're doing, and then !@#$ up their !@#$ before they can attack us. You got that?

"Where are you?"

 
Tokyo, and we're going to be heading your way !@#$ quickly as soon as we clear up a problem or two.

"Okay then," the man says, puffing himself up a bit -- quite literally: "But just so we !@#$ing understand? This is it, right? After this, I'm free?" 

That was the agreement, Gosheven. Don't !@#$ this up, though.

"Wouldn't !@#$ing dream of it," the shapeshifter says, smiling. And then, adjusting his molecules to make him all but invisible, he saunters out of the cells and into the ship, looking for some !@#$ to !@#$ up.

And it's been his experience there's always something he can screw up, somewhere.

* * *

"I don't think we have any time for last-minute checks, son," Mr. USA says, watching Myron apply last-last-last minute adjustments to the cobbled-together bank of parts and wires that's going to get them home: "How badly can it go?"

"One wire in the wrong place and we wind up floating behind the Moon, sir," Myron says, hoping the adjustments he made to the great machine -- still warming up under their feet -- will get them to Neo York City like he planned: "Can't be too careful, here..."

"Thomas stopped breathing!" one of the SPYGOD Scouts yells, and there's a moment of well-deserved panic, but then a raggedy, halting exhale comes from the burned stump of a boy, wrapped in a sweaty, soiled blanket, and everyone takes a step back and breathes easier. For now.

"And that's why I'm saying we need to hurry this up, Myron," the old superhero says, taking a step towards him.

"Don't you dare !@#$ing rush him," Winifred says, stepping between Mr. USA, Mark, and the others: "Just let him do what he has to, okay?"

"That's out of line, young lady," Mark starts to say, but he's halted by a warm hand on his shoulder.

"I trust in him," Skyspear says, gently pulling Mark back a step before he can say anything to the contrary: "I also trust in God. We will get home, God willing."

"I just don't feel safe using something that... thing brought with it," Mark sighs, putting his hand on hers.

"It's all we have to work with, Mark," Mr. USA sighs.

"I know it's all we've got, but still."

"Um, excuse me? Who's got the Action Badge for Making It Work?" Myron asks, waving his free hand: "That would be me. So if everyone could please just let me !@#$ing do this? Okay? Thanks."

A few tense seconds later he snaps his fingers, and Winifred knows to hand him a smaller screwdriver. As she does, she whispers to him: "I thought you were in Boy Scouts, not SPYGOD SCOUTS?"

"Details, details," he says, winking. He's very glad to see her smile at it, and for a moment he thinks about other things. 

And then he realizes something is wrong.

"Those circuits just connected themselves," he says, stepping back and leaning away from the small, glowing, brass cube he's been working on: "They just !@#$ing connected themselves."

"What the !@#$ does that mean?" a SPYGOD SCOUT asks, and then finds out when a large, brass arm snakes out from behind the machine, grabs him by the neck, and pulls his head right off at the shoulders.

"It means that Moloch strides amongst you, once more!" the beast says, rising out of the Great Machine like a parasite sliding out of its host -- all sharp, twisting limbs and bull-mouths and horns.

Some panic and try to get off the platform. These ones, it cuts in half and flings to either side of the great hall. Some try to attack the creature their escape route has become. These, it smashes flat or viciously bites.

"You will not escape Moloch," the beast announces to those that survive the initial onslaught, holding a few surviving SCOUTS aloft, with knives held to their frightened throats: "And you, old man. Stand down, or Moloch will punish these for your impudence."

Mr. USA scowls, but steps back: "What do you want, you filthy thing?"

"You will contact SPYGOD, and tell him to come here and face his doom. You will tell him that God wishes to punish him, and if  he cares to see you alive, he will travel here. You will tell him these things."

"How?" Mark shouts, guarding the body of Thomas with his own: "We can't communicate with Earth, you idiot!"

"Moloch has rewired the circuits needed to talk to him," the machine explains, and one of its many heads vomits forth a mass of wires and speakers, along with a small viewscreen: "You will speak to him through Moloch. You will do this now. Each moment you hesitate, another dies..."

Just to prove its resolve, it squeezes its knife-hands around the neck of one of its victims. The girl only has time to gurgle before her body hits the floor well ahead of her skull. As the others scream and curse, Mark realizes that, even after all these weeks together, he didn't even know her name.

"You hesitate, still?" Moloch asks, getting ready to reach for someone else.

"No!" Mark says, holding up his hands: "Please. I'll do it. Just, let me figure out what to say-"

"Moloch will speak. You shall recite." the beast says. 

(And for some weird reason, Mark gets the sense that Moloch thinks that's incredibly funny.)

"Okay," Mark says, looking at Mr. USA, who's clearly at a loss. They can't destroy the beast without destroying the machine. And if they destroy the machine -- render every working piece down to melted alloys and burned circuit boards -- they may never get home at all. 

And Thomas will most likely die.

"Now, Mark," the beast taunts: "Time grows short for you. Only Moloch is eternal, and the wrath of Moloch will know no ceasing-"

"Oh, please just be silent," a raggedy voice commands from on high. And what happens next happens so fast that even the principal players will never be able to process the entire thing. 

A green blur falls down from the broken ceiling, hurling itself at the center of Moloch's heads, long knives in its badly-burned hands.

Moloch howls in surprise as the knives enter the bulbous, metal eyes it created for itself, and lets go of the SCOUTS it grabbed onto in order to brush this painful annoyance away.

"Now!" the Green Man yells, leaping back from the thing's head a split-second before the many, sharp hands of Moloch crash against its face.

And Myron, still unsure of whether this thing will actually work -- especially now -- turns the machine on.

And then...

* * *

 ... yet another viewscreen goes blank, for a moment, and then comes back up on a blasted landscape before a massive, white cube. The unearthly armies that had been attacking it a second before are strewn on the ground, dead or dying. And misshapen, metal-plated limbs and tentacles come in from the sides of the screen to deal with those poor souls as-yet-untouched.

It's the same on all the screens the First Lady is watching, along with her children and their captor. The false Dr. Yesterday -- who's now properly introduced himself as The Motion -- is sipping coffee from a chipped mug that shouts IT'S NOT MAGIC, IT'S SCIENCE! and snickering as the metallic monsters he let loose on the world do what monsters usually do. 

He looks at his watch, somewhat theatrically: "It's been fifteen minutes, Mrs. (REDACTED). Do you think he's going to call?"

"I know he will," she says, holding her children's hands tightly: "I just don't think he's going to say what you want him to."

"What, that he'll end this stupid revolution to save your life?" Yesterday says, turning to look at her: "I hope for your sake he's more humane than that."

"This is about the greater good," she says: "My life for billions. He'd want me to make the same choice."

"And their lives?" he asks, pointing at her youngest, who recoils: "What about his children? His biological seed? Does he not care about that?"

"He does, but this is greater than them," she says, getting up and looking down at her captor: "But I'm curious about something."

"What might that be?" 

"You speak as though you have no feelings for us?"

"Yes, that's true-"

"But you seemed very concerned about that extermination order you were talking about," she says, gesturing the big bank of controls he was working from when he made that message to her husband: "Don't you want to see us all dead?"

He winces, and then looks back at her: "You mistake sentiment for expediency. The Day will go smoother if we put as much effort towards it as we can. We need you to work for us-"

"That didn't sound like concerns for expediency to me," she says, sitting back down to look him in the eye: "That sounded to me like you didn't want to be the man who killed an entire planet just to save his own people."

"I'll do that and more, woman-"

"It sounded to me like there's more of Dr. Yesterday in The Motion than The Motion would like to admit," she presses: "And if there's one thing I remember about him, about you, was that you were a good and humane man."

"Oh, I was nothing of the sort," he says, leaping to the feet and reaching for the hammer: "Do you know why I made those blue things, out there? Do you know why Rockethand went insane, last year? And do you know what I did and tried to do while that was happening? Do you?"

She shrinks back, thinking of what to say next. Before she can, he swings the hammer down, almost hitting her hand. She screams and jumps back, startled by the truly hideous look in his eyes.

"I have always been ambitious," he says, holding the hammer up to her face: "And I have always been stunted in that ambition. I have been second or third to the bat, always and forever. I have been the one they made to fix their weapons and make their machines. I'm the one they forced to marry that Nazi harridan, and be second fiddle to her and her brothers. 

"My God, the things I could tell you about her, about them-"

"Please," she says, but almost gets hit with the hammer, again.

"You listen!" he shouts: "I have always wanted more than this mere wisp of a life can offer. I want to transcend this frame, woman. I want immortality. The stars. Godhood. I have always wanted those things, and while I may not have been so keen on how they gave it to me, I have them now. 

"And I will not be stopped by the likes of your !@#$ing husband!"

He looks at her, and her red-eyed children -- almost too weary and worn out to cry further, and yet they do -- and then sits down, looking at the viewscreens, and then his watch.

"Twelve minutes left," he says, sipping his coffee: "And I think I'm going to definitely start with one of your girls. I want to see what happens to your lawyer's patter when I destroy what means the most to you. And when I do, I'm going to ask if you hold your husband responsible.

"Because he is."

And she grits her teeth and closes her eyes, praying for a miracle. 

* * *

"Okay, then" Director Straffer says, nudging his escape craft just a little bit to starboard, hoping beyond hope that he's just mistaken for space junk by the mighty -- but occasionally farsighted -- detection grids of Deep-Ten. 

He thinks of all the years that they've been smacked by derelicts and debris -- bits and pieces of old Soviet ships, small rocks traveling thousands of miles per second, and the like. Fortunately, the platform had advanced and efficient ways of dealing with the small pricks and large holes such collisions could cause, but it would have been nice if they could have seen them coming.

Today, he's grateful he never could.

At a certain point, just as a number of particle cannons let loose with three rapid volleys -- over Japan, he figures -- he decides this is close enough to work. And, having made that decision, he reaches for the switch. 

Before he throws it, he looks up at the station he's commanded for all these years. He thinks of his first day, and his last day. He thinks of the loneliness of being up on high, and the joys. He thinks of dreaming of space -- listening to it whisper in his mind as he slept in its weightless arms, letting it soothe him to sleep.

He thinks of the day they told him how much he would have to be changed in order to work within such a massive thing, and the final bit of safety protocol they were going to install within him.

Logical, really. They could be as certain as anyone that he wasn't suicidal, given the massive batteries of tests and interviews he'd undergone, before entering the Space Service, and then Icarus, then Alpha Base Seven, and then, finally, Deep-Ten. But they couldn't be certain he wouldn't be bought out by the Earth's enemies, or be overpowered and forced to use the station against them.

So they put the destruct switch for the entire station within his own body, and hooked it up to him in such a way that, should be throw it, he would die not long thereafter. 

After he leaped from Deep-Ten to the Moon, he did so with the hopes that he was dealing with a rational enemy, and that he could come back to his platform in triumph, eventually. But on 3/15, as he still floated down towards the Moon, and realized that they were using his platform to perform the unthinkable -- to attack the planet it was meant to defend -- he knew that he had made a grave error in judgement, and one he would have to make up for.

The signal he'd been constructing at Alpha Base Seven was meant to fix things, but then he was betrayed. And that left him only this one option -- or two, if he was willing to give up on the spirit of the switch in order to actually live through the death of his commission.

And he was. Oh dear God was he ever. Because as he'd fallen through space, aiming for the Moon, and hoping to one day hit it, he thought only of getting back to SPYGOD, and the one thing he'd ever loved more than his job -- more than himself.

So this was him, activating the third way: using the lifeboat's batteries to keep his brain and body alive after throwing the switch that destroyed Deep-Ten, and hoping the blast wave didn't cripple or kill the ship.

"'This rough magic I here abjure...,'" he quotes, wishing he knew the rest, and throws the switch.

And then he closes his eyes, because he simply cannot bear to watch. 

* * *

The first sign that The Fist gets that something has gone horribly, terribly wrong is when the nearest servitor robot fails to hand him a fresh martini.

He extends his hand to his back right, waving it around, and wondering why it's not making contact with a cool glass. Scowling, he turns around to berate the stupid, metal thing, but sees that it's been deactivated in mid-hand-off. Its big, bright eyes are no longer glowing, and its magnetic hold on the floor is starting to slip.

It's not the only one, either. All the servitor robots in the main control room -- who'd been running from post to post just seconds earlier -- are all still and unmoving. They have been switched off in mid-motion, as though time itself had been stopped.

The Fist is about to page for assistance from any currently-operating robots, and then report in to the Leader, when he hears an alarm he's never heard before. It's deep and long, and makes his teeth and eyes rattle in his skull.

"Final remote self-destruct activated," a voice says from all around him: "All hands abandon the platform. This is your first and only warning..."

It says more, but it's lost in the babel of other alarms that accompany it. Each of the platform's ten reactors are critical, and about to lose containment, and catastrophic failure is imminent. The particle cannons are overheating, the heavy lasers are venting coolant, the missiles have armed themselves.

And structural integrity is collapsing in sections 100, 99, 98...

He gasps. He swallows. He searches his brain for what to do, now, but realizes that he did not remember that this could happen.
 
He also realizes he has no idea how to turn it off.

He sees the cannons light up from within and explode outwards. Entire sections ignite as their munitions go critical. The long, curved platforms buckle and implode, and start to fall away from each other, and the ground under his feet starts to shiver and shake.

He doesn't know how many seconds he has left. The machine may or may not have said it, but he certainly didn't hear it over all the other warnings.

So he sighs, and reaches over to take the martini from the robot's hand. As last gestures go, it's pathetic, but he'll at least have the satisfaction of one final, perfectly-mixed drink.

Just his luck, his fingers don't even make contact with the glass before everything goes white, red, and then black.

* * *

There are some sights that one never forgets. Some things that, even decades later, you can always remember where you were and what you were doing when it happened. 

For many people, all around the world, the death of Deep Ten will be one of those days.

All around the globe, be it in the dark of night or the bright light of day, it is witnessed. A bright line of fire stretches across the sky, its magnitude worthy of an exploding star. The line expands, going from the thickness of a piece of string to the width of a hand in seconds, and then quickly decreases in brightness. 

Most people have no idea what has just happened. They had no idea the weapons platform was even up there, given that its existence was a massive secret. So, for them, this just becomes another frightening event on a day that's already proven to be more traumatic than most minds can bear.

But for those who have been fighting and dying on this day -- and suffering heavy losses due to the cannons from that trans-lunar platform -- this is a moment of joy. 

The cheering goes up in Asia, in Africa, all across Europe and North America, down to South America and over to the Pacific islands and Australia. Everywhere that the weird warriors of the world are fighting to save it, they realize what has happened, and act accordingly. 

The broken get back on their feet and charge. The shattered groups reform and redouble their efforts. Hidden backups are brought into the fray, reinforcements are called in at last, and every last trick their generals were holding onto is finally played.

And those armies that have hidden out until now, waiting for the right moment, find they have no excuses left, and fulfill their weighty obligations. 

The tide has finally turned, and there is no time but now to ride to victory. 

* * *

On the roof of Lady Gilda, firing his obscenely large gun at the strange, new Imago that have come out to fight, SPYGOD sees this happen and knows joy for the first time this day.

"Alright!" he shouts over the noise of the gun (and what he's listening to): "Payback time, mother!@#$ers!"

"SPYGOD, is that what I think it is?" Mister Ten asks from inside the Dignitary.

"Yes it !@#$ing is," he says, lighting up his enemies with something approaching orgasmic joy: "Tell Hanami she's clear to turn her !@#$ shield off. She might want to hang back and help Tokyo, though. I think these metal-plated buzzards are gonna !@#$ it up if they can..."

"I think I will try," he says, but SPYGOD realizes, soon enough, that there's no telling that android anything. Before he has enough time to turn his head and watch, she's already flown past him three times, annihilating more and more of the newcomers with each pass. 

Before long, there's nothing but debris twitching in the ocean where he had targets. That and a smiling android, floating above the waves and giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Well done, Hanami," Mister Ten says, smiling: "Now, please go back to Tokyo. You must keep it safe from these things, and other threats. Can you do that?"

"I can," she says, smiling and bowing in his direction: "Please be careful, Ju San."

"I will," he replies, more worried about her.  

"Alright then," SPYGOD says: "If you're heading to the Lost City, it's !@#$ing thataway. Shall we?"

And, now going at top speed, the flying saucer and the giant, white robot do.

(SPYGOD is listening to Puppets (Depeche Mode) and having a Buzzards Bay IPA)