LNH: Retcon Hour TEB [9/12]
We Represent the Retcon Kids
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(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>)
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(>) RETCON HOUR PART 23 (<)
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(>) Unlikely Aliens #6 (<)
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Unlikely Aliens #6
"If This Be Retcon..."
RETCON HOUR 23
FINAL ISSUE! SURE TO BE A COLLECTOR'S CLASSIC!
[This cover is the other half of the last issue's cover. At the top is a
quadrupedal dinosaur with knobby armor. Its tail extends onto the other
cover, where Hybrid is struggling with it. On the lower right, Pack Rat is
posed wearing unfamiliar armor (unfamiliar to anyone who hasn't seen
Bubblegum Crisis, that is), while, above that, Zagyg is confronting several
shadowy figures. The half-face on the left completes the face from last
issue, revealing it to be the mysterious figure IMPLO. The Retcon Hour logo
is set beneath the face, and a box on the lower right says "Final Issue! Buy
two and bag one in the ridiculous hope that it'll be worth more than the
Mona Lisa someday!"]
In fact, it was only one dinosaur, and a rather odd one at that.
"Anklyosaurus."
"What?" Wyrd looked at Hybrid in confusion.
"It's an anklyosaurus. A type of dinosaur dating back to the
Cretaceous period. Their significant features were bony armor covering
their bodies and a bony knob at the end of their tails serving as a club.
Fortunately, they were herbivores, and harmless unless threatened or
panicked."
The fifteen-foot long dinosaur roared and knocked another park bench
over with its thrashing tail as the portal shimmered behind it.
"Unfortunately, I'd say that this one's panicked. Any ideas on how to
stop it?"
"Well," Zagyg speculated, "those other guys disappeared when their
portal closed. Maybe if we could artificially close this portal, the dino
would disappear too." He readied his synthesizer and tapped a few keys
idly. "Unfortunately, I can't think of any appropriate song. Any of you
got anything useful?"
"Alas, no," Ur-Grue said. "While rezrov is unparalleled at opening
anything non-organic that can be opened, I never felt it necessary to learn
the reverse. All my other spells that might apply are currently of too
great a power to be accessible to me now."
"Reversed? That gives me an idea." Pack Rat rummaged through his
items and snapped a few together into an odd-looking device. "This might
work, but we'll have to get close enough to the portal to use it. Hybrid,
Wyrd, Zagyg, do you think you can distract the anklyo-whatever long enough
for me and Ur-Grue to get to the portal?"
"Natch," Wyrd smiled as she launched fireballs at either side of the
anklyosaur's head, not hitting it, but giving it a strong distraction.
Zagyg aided by playing a flurry of confusing sonics at the anklyosaur. Pack
Rat and Ur-Grue dashed towards the portal past the tail Hybrid was holding
back.
"You had best know what you are doing," Ur-Grue said.
"I do. Trust me." He aimed the device at the portal. "Right. Now,
cast that rezrov thing, but aim it at the polaricon, not at the portal."
Ur-Grue looked at Pack Rat oddly, but extended a claw to point at the
device and intoned, "Rezrov polaricon."
The device shuddered for a moment, and its battery panel began to open,
but then the device beeped, and lights began activating all across its
surface. A beam of light leapt from its twin prongs to the portal, which
began to draw itself closed. With a snap, it shut, and the anklyosaur faded
away, presumably back to its own time.
"Not bad," Zagyg commented. "What was that?"
"A reversal-maximitron dually-orienting polaricon. It reverses any
form of energy or effect applied to it. I gambled that it would work for
magic as well, and it looks like it worked. The real question is, what
happened to your clothes?"
Zagyg glanced down at himself. His red pants and jacket had turned a
light violet, and his yellow shirt was now blue. He wore a pair of plaid
sandals, and a teal baseball cap with a logo in Elvish completed the outfit.
Skyrunner had turned white.
"Offhand, I'd say that some other temporal anomaly happened. Still,
the detail on this one is quite good. The jacket even bears a nearly
imperceptible stain from that one encounter with a green slime. Almost as
if I'd been wearing these clothes the whole time... Anyway, hopefully it'll
wear off on its own. Otherwise, I may have to buy a whole new wardrobe.
Not too bad, but still."
"Not too bad?" Skyrunner squawked. "What about me? If this thing
doesn't wear off, what am I supposed to do? Buy new feathers? Get a dye
job? I-"
Fortunately, he never had to complete the sentence, because Zagyg's
clothes and Skyrunner's feathers returned to normal at that moment. They
relaxed for a moment. Then, they heard another scream. Outside the park,
on the street, they could see a group of medieval-looking mercenary types
grabbing people and threatening them in some archaic form of German. A
pentagonal portal floated nearby.
The Unlikely Aliens, naturally, sighed and headed for the portal.
*****
Over the next few hours the Unlikely Aliens roamed through Net.ropolis,
led by sightings of portals, the screams of passers-by, and, eventually, by
distortions that Hybrid found in the local source code. The reversed rezrov
spells worked well at closing the portals, while Zagyg, Wyrd, and Hybrid
held off a variety of threats, including cavemen, Net.sis, and a group of
bank robbers and cattle rustlers who alternately called themselves the James
Gang, the Earl Gang, and the Jones Gang. While in general interesting, the
encounters wore on over the course of the day, and grew slightly tedious.
Of more interest were the various retcons that overtook the group,
changing various aspects of the heroes, or even their base natures. One of
the most drastic in fact changed the genre from comic books to anime. Pack
Rat was pleased by his Knight Sabers power armor, but nobody quite knew what
to make of Wyrd's third eye and radical personality shift, and Zagyg was
exasperated by having to take the group out of its way to find hot water to
convert him back from female form. Of course, that point became moot when,
minutes after the effects of that retcon wore off, a new retcon reversed
everyone's gender. Myriad annoyances plagued the group due to these
retcons, but fortunately, the retcons all seemed to be of limited duration,
and the Unlikely Aliens slowly grew to be able to ignore all but the most
dramatic.
Eventually, as most of the major holes in time, space, and the plot
were plugged, Hybrid noticed a pattern in their locations. They all seemed
to center around one structure in the heart of Net.ropolis.
*****
The Unlikely Aliens looked at LNH HQ speculatively. It wasn't the most
inviting of places, but then again, it wasn't exactly threatening either.
Perhaps the best description would be "inconsistent," as at this point,
retcons were washing over it almost constantly. Whole wings were being
edited into and out of existence within seconds, and the basic structure was
constantly rippling like - well, there is absolutely nothing like the way a
building ripples when it is changing styles and building materials several
times a second except for itself. Thus, it was rippling exactly like the
LNH HQ under concerted reality assault.
Hybrid looked up from his wrist computer and adjusted goggles that
hadn't been there a minute ago. "Well, whatever this place is, it's
definitely the center of all the chaos that's been going on around here.
So, do we want to go inside, or just retire back to the white house and get
a good night's sleep?"
"Fairly obvious answer," Zagyg said as he approached the door, which
was being retconned between open and closed states.
"You got that right," Wyrd agreed. "See you all back there." She
began to head off towards RAC.Arthur Park before being restrained by
Hybrid's gentle paw on her shoulder. She sighed and turned towards the HQ.
Zagyg rested his hand on his rapier. "I'll go in first, just in case
there's something bad in store. Wyrd, Pack Rat, cover me. Skyrunner, can
you scout from the air?"
"No problem. Frankly, you've gotta be nuts to volunteer to go on point
into that place."
Zagyg grinned. "Nuts or adventurous, my fine feathered familiar. Your
choice."
Rolling his eyes, Skyrunner flew into the air over LNH HQ. Zagyg
lowered the brim of his hat, laid a hand on his rapier, and stepped through
the door as it was retconned open.
Zagyg walked through the door of the office, hanging his hat on the
hatrack and plopping down into the chair behind the desk. It had been a
long day. The Universal Anchor was on the fritz, something odd had been
going on with Generation Y, Pliable Lad had turned evil, then turned out to
not exactly be himself, the Dark Renegades were attacking, a weird being
called IMPLO was running around canceling titles, the Time Crapper,
Contraption Man, wReamicus Maximus and a host of other villains were on the
loose, and on top of it all, Myk-El may or may not have been dead again. It
was times like this when he wondered why he had ever agreed to become leader
of the LNH.
Admittedly, he thought, at the time, events had been confusing enough.
When it was announced that there would be an election for the position,
after Deja Dude had stepped down, there had been a host of frivolous
contenders for the position. He had nominated himself simply because he
realized that the Legion would quickly go downhill with, say, Bad-Timing Boy
or Easily-Discovered Man at the helm. Then, however, most of the frivolous
contenders either dropped out or fell too far behind in the votes. It came
down to him or Continuity Champ, and, with the added base given by
seniority...
Zagyg's thoughts were interrupted as Pizza Girl entered the room.
"Listen, I-" she began, then cut off abruptly as she noticed Zagyg.
"Yes, Aili?" he said politely. "What's up, aside from the chronal
chaos that's been going around?"
"Who are you?" she said, eyes narrowed.
Zagyg blinked. "You know me, Aili - don't you? I'm Zagyg Ygraine,
bard, spellsinger, fencer, and leader of the LNH."
"I've never heard of you," she said flatly. "Where's Ultimate Ninja?"
"Who?" Zagyg stood, puzzled.
"Ultimate Ninja, the leader of the Legion of Net.Heroes. I was coming
to ask him just what's going on and what he's doing to stop it."
Zagyg shook his head. "I've never heard of him." He gestured out the
doorway to the black-clad figure mopping the halls. "The only 'Ultimate'
who's a member of the LNH is Ultimate Janitor out there."
Pizza Girl looked incredulous at this, then stared at the black-garbed
janitor, who gave her a grim nod, then proceeded to mop the corridor in a
flurry of action. Pizza Girl rushed out after him, but he was already out
of sight down the sparkling clean corridor.
Zagyg had followed her out. She turned to him. "This is all wrong.
My uncle vanishes, then reappears. Generation Y changes, and _nobody
remembers it but me!_ There's something wrong, but nobody will listen!"
Zagyg looked troubled. "Well, I can tell you that we're under attack
by a number of villains with time-control powers, including the Time
Crapper, and that retcons have been flying fast and furious around here. It
sounds like you've been caught in the thick of some of them. That explains
the problems with your uncle, everything going wrong with Generation Y, and
why you remember that Ultimate Ninja person when he doesn't exist."
Ultimate Janitor rushed by again in a dusting frenzy.
Pizza Girl looked at Zagyg with frustrated, exhausted eyes. "But I've
never heard of you! How are you so sure that you're not the retcon?"
"Well, aside from the fact that I, along with the rest of the Unlikely
Aliens, was a founding member of the LNH, there's the fact that-"
"Zag!" Zagyg and Pizza Girl turned to see Skyrunner fluttering down
the corridor. He landed on Zagyg's shoulder.
"So, just where have you been?" Zagyg asked playfully.
"Looking for you. One moment you were just stepping in the door, and
the next - poof! You were gone!"
"What are you talking about? You flew off when the Time Crapper
appeared, remember? I had assumed that you had gone to hide or get
something to eat, or both."
Skyrunner eyeballed Zagyg disbelievingly. "Zag, are you nuts or just
plain absent-minded this time? We found this weird place, you went inside-"
"What weird place? This is LNH HQ, remember? The place we live? The
headquarters of the organization I'm the leader of?"
"Whaaat???" Skyrunner stared at Zagyg, then turned to Pizza Girl.
"Have you been doing something to him?"
"Hey, don't look at me. I've been _trying_ to tell him I've never
heard of him, but he won't listen."
Skyrunner nodded. "Typical." He turned back to Zagyg. "Zag, listen
to me. You're not leader of anything - heck, I'd pity any group that would
actually take you as leader. You arrived in this universe yesterday. You
met a bunch of other guys, and you were all kidnapped by this guy called the
Artificer. You fought him and beat him, and decided to call yourselves the
Unlikely Aliens. Is any of this getting through?"
Zagyg's brow was furrowed as he concentrated hard. "That happened -
but wasn't that back at the beginning? We came here, and met the rest of
the proto-LNH, and then the Artificer joined up with Dr. Killfile and- and-
no, that doesn't work..." He concentrated, then looked up suddenly, eyes
wide.
"You're right! I'm not leader of the LNH - I shouldn't even know what
the LNH is! I got here just yesterday." He turned to Pizza Girl. "I'm not
even supposed to know you."
Pizza Girl nodded as Zagyg looked around. "Wait a second. Wasn't
there supposed to be an office around here somewhere?"
The trio was now standing in a featureless stretch of corridor. The
office Zagyg and Pizza Girl had emerged from was nowhere in sight.
Pizza Girl and Zagyg looked at each other. Pizza Girl said, "I don't
know about you, but I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I think that
the leader's office ought to be off this way, whoever or whatever is in it
this time. I'm going to get some answers."
"I'll join you. I really think that it would be best if I could find
out just what the heck is going on before I become Grand
Obersteppenhuffenpuffentrooper of the Third Basement or something."
The two of them rushed down the corridors, with Skyrunner barely
maintaining his perch on Zagyg's shoulder. They stopped as they turned a
corner. The door to the office was there, but the figure emerging from the
office, turning off the lights and locking the door, was none other than-
"CANNON FODDER?"
Cannon Fodder turned towards them and nodded. "Yes, Aili? How can I
help you?"
Zagyg maintained just enough fading memory of the LNH roster to know
how odd this seemed. "But aren't you-"
"Dead? Yes. But I got better," he grinned, totally misinterpreting the
thrust of Zagyg's statement. He glanced at a clipboard. "Zagyg, if you and
the Unlikely Aliens are done closing up the time, space, and plot holes
across Net.ropolis, we could use reinforcements against the Knightforce
Elite, and there have been reports of a 'Legion of Unliving Legionnaires'
downtown. The UA would be handy against either."
"Wait a second," Pizza Girl cut in. "How in the world did you get to
be leader of the LNH?"
Cannon Fodder shrugged. "Well, the vote was pretty decisive, I'd say,
although there wasn't much challenge, given my tactical skill, aptitude for
administration, and of course, the infamous 'Infinite Kamikaze' maneuver."
He grinned again.
"This is just too weird," Pizza Girl muttered. "This can't be
happening."
"Truer than you think," a booming voice announced. "And soon, it will
never have been."
Zagyg and Pizza Girl turned. A huge, imposing figure in green and
purple filled the corridor behind them. Only its white eyes were visible
through the costume.
"Who are you?" Zagyg asked.
"I am... IMPLO. And you are about to be canceled."
"What?" Zagyg was slightly confused. "What do you mean?"
In the confusion, Cannon Fodder had been retconned out of the scene,
presumably to an appearance in another comic. The rest of the Unlikely
Aliens were now standing there.
"I have decreed that there are too many Legion of Net.Heroes titles,
overwhelming the bandwidth and cluttering the Net. Therefore, I have taken
it upon myself to cancel all of the comics of this universe. Yours is
next."
Wyrd frowned. "I don't get it. What do you mean, comics?"
IMPLO hesitated, perhaps recalling his troubles with Constellation and
the Secret Dvanders. Skyrunner took the opportunity to fly over to a ledge
near IMPLO and talk quietly to him.
"Look, pal, your trick isn't going to work here. Y'see, you know that
they're in a comic. I know that they're in a comic. But they haven't got
the slightest idea that they're in a comic. Even Zagyg's probably forgotten
what he knew in that retcon earlier. So, if you just walk up to them and
say, 'This book's canceled,' they're likely to just look confused and then
go on to thwomp you. And you don't want that. So just be a good cosmic
entity and move along, okay?"
IMPLO frowned beneath his mask. "So, you refuse to accept a mere
cancellation. Very well. I shall be forced to resort to more drastic
measures, then.
"Prepare to be retconned."
The Unlikely Aliens still looked blank at this. IMPLO almost allowed
himself to feel frustrated. "In this case that means retroactively killed."
The Aliens thought on this for a moment, then, just as they were about to do
something, IMPLO raised his hand, and a wave of pure, elemental retcon swept
forth and engulfed the five heroes.
Treacherous Cockroach nodded, and pulled a master switch. Electrodes
started arcing, flywheels began to crackle, and mysterious devices that go
"Bzzt" began to go "Bzzt." Then, something went wrong.
Treacherous Cockroach stared at a display in alarm. "Oh, no! The
Graveson Generators have gone out of synch! That could lead to a capacity
build-up, which would lead to fluctuations in the dipole flow, which means-"
He was interrupted by a loud bang from the platform where Hybrid was
standing. The tiger-beetle crossbreed was outlined in white light for an
eternal second, then the room was dark.
Treacherous Cockroach went over to the platform. There was nothing
left there but a small pile of black ashes. A multitude of thoughts about
the charcoal that had once been his son raced through his mind, but the one
that stood out most was, "Oh, no. How am I going to explain this in the
budget?"
Zagyg gestured with a dramatic flourish to a hatchway, and cried, "Out
of the doorway, the bullets rip, repeating to the sound of the beat!"
A stutter of gunfire erupted from the hatchway, and a hail of bullets
flew out at the mage. They passed straight through Alamaturos as Zagyg
moved in, drawing his rapier. He was caught by surprise when Alamaturos
ignored the bullets completely and launched a lightning bolt which caught
Zagyg in the chest.
Alamaturos grinned. "I bet you thought that I'd still be foolish
enough to believe those illusions, right? Nice try, bard, but not good
enough."
The battle from that point on was short and one-sided. Zagyg tried to
parry and counter, but Alamaturos was too quick for him. Zagyg's back was
against the rail. He could retreat no more. He readied himself for one
last thrust, but was caught completely unaware by the flurry of magic
missiles that streaked into his chest. He felt himself falling unconscious
as he fell over the rail into the dark void between worlds.
Skyrunner dove down to the rail. "Zagyg! No! This can't be
happening," he muttered, then flew down after him, into the endless depths
of space as Alamaturos laughed maniacally and steered the spelljammer
towards the unsuspecting planet below...
The Ur-Grue's contemplations were interrupted by the sound of grappling
hooks latching onto stone. He jerked his head up and saw a platoon of
figures in light riot armor clambering over the edge of the cliff. One of
them grabbed a rifle from off his back and pointed it at the Ur-Grue.
"Don't move, you I-Conspirator, or we'll blow your head off."
The Ur-Grue was not impressed. "Gir-uggh!" His spellcasting was
interrupted by gunfire from the lead trooper.
"I warned you," the Visionary trooper said, and nodded to his men.
Each of them aimed their rifles at the shade.
Ur-Grue struggled to reach a natural shadow. If he could only get deep
enough to shift-
He couldn't. No matter how powerful the spirit inside, the body was
only mortal. He was torn to pieces by the hail of gunfire. As his field of
darkness faded, the thing that had once been the Ur-Grue charred and sizzled
in the sunlight until nothing was left but bones of ash.
Grinning, Wyrd cried, "All right!" as she began to dash across the
rooftop. "Now _this_ is serious power. My street cred is going _up._ Either
that, or Informatix is gonna be paying extra for these things.... Nah. I
like 'em. Anyway, they're kinda fun - WHOA!" She stumbled over one of the
guards' guns lying near the edge of the roof and toppled into the air over the
alley.
<Memo to myself. In the future, never run and engage in monologues at
the same time.> She drew herself into a crash position as the ground
approached. <Sure wish I->
Wyrd's thoughts were interrupted by a voice echoing in her head,
channeled far from its natural time and place by retcons, temporal
distortions, and a powerful will.
<(SHE WHO MUST KNOW....WHO`'OD WIN DEMANDS TO SEE WHO SHALL BECOME THE
SAVIOR OF NET.EARTH. WHO SHALL BECOME....
THE RACCELESTIAL MADONNA!)>
<What the...?> Wyrd thought as a powerful urge to comply swept through
her. She never had a chance to, though, as at that moment, her body hit the
concrete below with the sound of snapping bones.
The sound of sirens drifted up an alley inhabited only by a broken body
bleeding from the mouth...
Pack Rat struggled to his feet. Now that he was standing still, the
Marines were closing in fast. He shook his head and began considering the
various weapons at his disposal.
"Plasma gun? No, it's almost out of ammo. Laser? No, I think that a
few circuits came loose. Energy sword? ThatŐs still a bit unreliable.
Megablaster? Didn't I lose that last week?" He pondered his other choices
for a moment, before an idea came to him. "Of course! That temporal transfer
belt I found in that old factory. I'll just jump ahead a few weeks. They'll
have given up the search by then." He grasped the device at his waist while
chuckling, "There's a way out of every situation - as long as I can find it,
and it-aagh!"
Pack Rat had hesitated a moment too long. The first barrage of laser
shots ripped through his armor, and the explosive missiles made sure that
nothing but debris remained on the surface of the airless moon.
Pizza Girl stared on in horror. One moment the Unlikely Aliens were
confronting IMPLO, the next, they never had existed. She stared up at the
huge figure in a mixture of shock and horror.
IMPLO noticed her, and turned to her, raising his hand as he had towards
the Unlikely Aliens.
Naturally, Aili did the only sensible thing considering the
circumstances. She ran. Fast.
IMPLO would have chuckled, if he allowed himself. Instead, he merely
spoke a single sentence.
"Unlikely Aliens is canceled."
THE END?
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(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>)
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(>) RETCON HOUR PART 24 (<)
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(>) Legion of Occult Heroes #0 (<)
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(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>)
THE LEGION OF OCCULT HEROES #0
-
RETCON HOUR #24
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was an explosion. Only a little one, though. A few
windows were rattled in the Net.ropolis street that it occurred in,
and when it was done, there was, at it`s centre, not the scene of
generally empty desolation that you might expect, but instead a group
of spandex clad net.heroes consisting of two men and a woman, who
looked somewhat the worse for wear, as though they had just fought
their way through the occasional horde of vile creatures immediately
prior to appearing by explosion. They were wary, and ready to fight
once more. The familiar surroundings had a mollifying effect, however.
"We`re back? We`re actually back, this time?" asked the young,
longhaired man in the skintight costume with the leering devil on the
front.
"It appears so. The essence of this place is that of
Net.ropolis," replied the older man in the green trenchcoat and
perfectly green costume beneath.
"Either that or you recognised the skyline," commented the
young woman, who wore a costume composed seemingly of scales. Reptile
scales. "Sometimes I wonder about your powers."
"That you may do. But do I question yours?"
"No. But I wish somebody would."
"Look," Said the young man, "leave it out for a moment, will
you? We`d better get back to the LNH HQ before GrimLad blows his top."
"It is as you say. Would you be kind enough to provide
transport?" asked the older man in the trenchcoat.
"And not the bloody bat, this time!"
"Fair enough. I think I`ve found a better one." The young
man`s eyes glowed momentarily as he spoke a single word: "TONARETSO!"
And with that, there appeared in the road a gigantic, orange cat,
which was curious in that it had four pairs of legs, and windows upon
it`s side, which looked in upon a buslike passenger compartment.
"Typical," muttered the woman, who recognised the
creature. The sign above it`s head changed from something
indecipherable written in one of the infernal languages of Dis, to
"LEGION OF NET.HEROES HQ via City". The cat turned it`s head to grin
broadly at them. An opening was created in it`s side, widening to
become big enough for a human to pass through. The net.heroes boarded.
There was, for one blessed moment, silence. Then it began.
"This is your fault," accused Mr. Trenchcoat. "You screwed up
the changeover in Finland!"
"My fault?" returned GrimLad. "You were the one who suggested
all this in the first place. If you hadn`t come crashing into my bar,
we wouldn`t be in this mess!"
"Oh, that`s right. Blame me for mystical events beyond my
control, go on, I`m used to it. You know damn well that Finnish second
hand account dealer was dodgier than the Welsh cricket team."
"That was a legitimate business deal. I`ve used that guy
dozens of times before, and he`s never sold me a duff account yet!"
"Oh, very likely-"
"Excuse me?"
GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat turned from their rather heated
discussion to face the occupant or licencee of this particular
voice. "What?" they barked, both being rather annoyed that a perfectly
good argument was being so rudely interrupted.
"I just wanted to get past-" The owner of the voice was an
LNHer whom the two argumentatives did not recognise. All costumes look
the same when you wear a trenchcoat.
"Oh, sorry." The LNHer scurried through the corridor that
GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat had been blocking up.
"Look. The question is not so much one of blame, but of WHAT
THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT!?!?!?"
"No need to shout," said Mr. Trenchcoat irritably. "I`d
imagine that the first thing to do would be to find out exactly what`s
happened to us, and if there`s anything that we can do about it."
"That`s remarkably sensible, coming from you."
"Must be something to do with the change." Mr. Trenchcoat
looked down at his costume, and grimaced. Lots of black, lots of
red. And sigils. Embarrassingly covered with sigils. "God, what
arseheaded tailor designed this?"
"Probably the same one that did mine," replied GrimLad. His
costume consisted mostly of electric blue lightning on a black
background; and unlike Mr. Trenchcoat, he had been deprived of his
natural rainwear fetish by the change. "I suppose we`d better find
someone who might explain all this."
"Shouldn`t be too hard. After all, they all remember us as
this "Legion of Occult Heroes". God, what an awful name."
After some minutes of aimless wandering, prolonged by their
lack of experience with the LNHHQ, and the fact that it was a none too
stable place anyway, the two shameless heroes found their way into the
canteen. In the absence of Cheesecake-Eater Lad, a few people were
enjoying such delights as blueberry pie, freshly prepared pizza and
the occasional mountain of garlic bread. Our protagonists grabbed some
of the local goodies for themselves, and took seating at the same
table as a reasonably intelligent looking man, who was attempting to
work out the meaning of apple pie, and it`s significance to his lunch.
Mr. Trenchcoat looked carefully at the man. There was
something of the doctorate about him, but nevertheless his clothing
could not be called anything other than a costume. GrimLad began to
eat his sugarladen meal, and found it so remarkably tasteful that he
lost interest in anything but that, at least until he finished
gobbling. The man who shared the table with them looked up from his
pie, and blinked at the pair. "Good lord," he said. "A complete
remapping..."
Mr. Trenchcoat widened his eyes as the man rounded the table
and began to querulously examine him with a small electronic pocket
device of some description that the trenchcoated one refused to
subscribe to. "Yes, indeed, a complete change within the geomorphic
consistency of the space/time continuum..." The device beeped a few
times. "No, not complete; not complete at all! Merely physical... as
though there is some form of protection at work. Intriguing..."
"Before I begin to remove your internal organs one by one,"
said Mr. Trenchcoat through clenched teeth, "would you kindly tell me
who you are and what the hell you are doing?"
The man looked up in surprise. "Oh, please, forgive me. I`ve
completely forgotten my manners. Doctor Stomper." He held out a hand
for the shaking of. Mr. Trenchcoat shook it under protest. "I`m just a
little curious about your status in reality."
Mr. Trenchcoat raised eyebrows. "Then you`re probably the one
we`re looking for. What the hell has happened to us?"
"Well, to put it simply, in Layman`s terms (an obscure
physicist from the nineteenth century whose work on contrareality
flows I am a student of), you and your companion have been rewarped
through a reality redefinition process which seems, for some reason to
have been incomplete."
GrimLad chipped in through a mouthful of pie. "But how the
hell do we stop it?"
"I`m afraid that there isn`t really any way to do so. The
energy source which affects these kinds of changes is, by the very
definition of it`s properties, extradimensional, and therefore
unreachable by any but the more advanced forms of gods."
"I know a few gods," mused Mr. Trenchcoat, "but I don`t think
they`d be all that happy to help us."
"All I can recommend is that you wait and simply let things
happen. I`ve been monitoring a great deal of this kind of energy
washing around lately, which is in itself rather curious, as I only
had it down as a theory before, a theory which stated that this kind
of energy would not be detectable simply due to the nature of it`s
effects."
"Hmph. Thanks for the pseudoscientific explanation of what a
retcon is." said Mr. Trenchcoat.
"You`re welcome," replied Doctor Stomper. "However, I must
warn you that the effects of this change are wildly unpredictable, and
probably not yet fully apparent."
"Thank you. I feel so much better for knowing that," said
GrimLad. There was a barking as of a loudspeaker coughing into
wakefulness from the corner of the room. All turned to look at it.
"Would GrimLad please come to reception... this is a call for
GrimLad to come to reception... thank you..." Grim boggled.
"I promise you that I have absolutely no idea what this is
about."
"For once, I agree with you. We`d better go and see what it
is, though," said Mr. Trenchcoat.
"I'll come with you," said Doctor Stomper.
Doctor Stomper led the way for the simple reason that he knew
the way. Grim and Mr. Trenchcoat followed hurriedly, growing more
worried by the minute. Although this may have been due to the absence
of alcohol in their bloodstreams. To alleviate this as far as
possible, Mr. Trenchcoat hunted about in his favourite garment for the
cigarettes that he was absolutely certain he had put there before all
this had happened (and were, indeed, the same packet he had been
smoking during all that Barnstable mess), and found to his surprise
that they were still there. As they entered the wide reception area,
Mr. Trenchcoat lit up, and began to feel much better about life in
general. A feeling which didn`t last too long.
In the reception area were three costumed heroes, who the
reader will recognise as being the same three who appeared at the
beginning of this story. Nobody else did, however; apart from,
surprisingly, the receptionist. Grim, upon entering, looked about for
anyone who might have reason to call him, didn`t see anyone, and
asked, "So who called?"
"Well, we did, who do you think?" exclaimed the woman.
"Er. We got a bit delayed, I`m afraid. After you left to take
the message to Israishus, we were attacked by this horde of
Shishirishni," said the younger of the men.
"As you do," muttered Mr. Trenchcoat.
"We escaped but barely. How did the rest of the plan proceed?"
asked the older of the two men.
"Pardon?" asked GrimLad, who was, not for the first time,
mightily puzzled.
"Are you alright?" asked the young man.
"That`s not the question. The question is: who the hell are
you?" Mr. Trenchcoat looked keenly at the trio, questioningly,
barbedly. The three stared back, obviously a little confused. Not as
confused, however, as GrimLad was.
"What...?" asked the woman. "Have you completely lost your
marbles again?"
"Are you sure he had any in the first place?" counterpointed
the younger man. "Grim, what`s all this about?"
"Who. Are. You?" asked GrimLad.
"What?" The young man grew a deep frown on his face. "This is
wrong. This is all wrong..." Doctor Stomper wondered where Cliche Dude
was.
"He truly does not know us. There is something deeply amiss
here," added the older man.
"For god`s sake, we`re the Legion of Occult Heroes! Don`t you
remember? You`re supposed to be the leader, aren`t you! Aren`t you?"
implored the woman.
"Look. Let me say this very slowly. There. Is. No. Legion.
Of. Occult. Heroes. It doesn`t exist. It`s a temporary retcon."
GrimLad paused, and then began to thunder at them. "We`re not heroes!
We`re trenchcoaters!"
"You don`t exist," added Mr. Trenchcoat, helpfully. The three
heroes were understandably none too happy about this. They looked to
Doctor Stomper.
"I`m sorry, but it`s true. I don`t remember you either."
"Excuse me...?" asked the receptionist.
"We`re busy," said Grim.
"I just wanted autographs. I`ve never seen the LOH all
together before..."
The woman snapped back at Grim. "There! Somebody remembers
us!"
"Their minds must have been tampered with. Do you think it
might be the Legendary Imp? Or the Diumvirate?" asked the younger man.
"I fear that it may be more serious than that. It may be..."
-a solemn, bated hush as the older man paused in mid sentence- "the
Incorporate Conspiracy. They have often tried to destroy us."
Mr. Trenchcoat was taken somewhat aback by this. "The
Conspiracy?"
"Aye. The very same."
"Grim, there may be rather more to this than we first
thought."
"Please don`t tell me. I`d much rather have a drink."
"The Conspiracy is real. I`ve, er, had recent dealings with
them."
"So?"
"So," interjected Doctor Stomper, "this is no lightweight,
simple, uncomplicated retcon. These three are more deeply bound to
reality than they seem."
"Look," explained Mr. Trenchcoat, "It`s not the conspiracy. I
know them. It`s a retcon, okay? You`ve been retconned into
existence. We were retconned too, the only difference being that we
can remember what things were like before."
"No. We exist. We`re here. We have a past." said the woman.
"Yes, you do now, but until recently that was not the case,"
said Doctor Stomper.
"What they say is true. They have not the stench of lies in
their blood." said the older man. "As you have no knowledge of us, I
shall make introductions. I am known as the Green Trenchcoat. The
young man with the creature upon his costume is called Demon Boy. The
young woman is Leviathan Lass."
"I suppose sensible names were too much to ask for?" said
Grim, pained.
At this point, there was an explosion.
The explosion was outside, but not for long. It broke through
into the reception area with ill concealed force and hurled the
occupants of such against the walls. Dust filled the air in it`s
wake. Amongst the rubble, the various LOHers, NTBers and LNHers
struggled to break free of large quantities of ex-reception area that
were attempting to entrap them. The dust began to glow a lurid colour,
a colour projected from outside. The colour grew more intense as the
various people coughed and fought their way out of the debris. And
then it`s source strode into view.
"I AM IMPLO! HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO CREATE A NEW SERIES? THE
LEGION OF OCCULT HEROES IS CANCELLED!"
"New Series?!? We`ve been going for ages!"
"Go stuff yourself!" shouted Mr. Trenchcoat
"BE SILENT AND ACCEPT YOUR FATE!"
Mr. Trenchcoat arose from the rubble, sigils sparking. There
being nowhere to run, he determined to make a stand. "Fat chance."
"SILENCE! OR I SHALL CRUSH YOU PERSONALLY!"
"Try it, rustbucket! I could do with a laugh!"
"VERY WELL! PREPARE TO BE ANNIHILATED!" IMPLO raised arms,
burdened with force, and prepared to beat Mr. Trenchcoat into very
small pieces. He struck. And struck. And struck.
And Mr. Trenchcoat was still standing there. He held aloft a
playing card, that glowed from it`s centre, a popular sigil upon it
that beat back at IMPLO.
"NO... NO! I SHALL RETURN!" and with that, the creature was
gone.
Dust settled. "Care to explain?" asked Grim.
"Ace Up The Sleeve. Only works in moments of dire peril, and
as a last resort. Got it off a man in Alaska."
"Stole it, you mean."
"If you prefer. It worked, though." The card, spent, crumbled
in Mr. Trenchcoat`s hand.
"Actually, the fact that you`re not technically an LNHer and
therefore more resistant to the effects of retcon energy may have
had..."
Grim cut Doctor Stomper off. "We get the idea. What next?"
The Green Trenchcoat replied. "We are all strangers to this
continuum, but I believe our fates are linked with the battle that yet
goes on."
"You reckon we should throw our lot in with them, then?" said
Mr. Trenchcoat.
"A teamup would be advisable, yes." The five LOHers stood
together.
"So. What do we do?" asked Leviathan Lass. Doctor Stomper
piped up.
"How about the RACCelestial Madonna Pageant? I heard that they
might need some extra security..."
"It couldn`t have been something sensible, could it?" asked
Mr. Trenchcoat.
"Not a chance. When this is over, I intend to be drunk for at
least a week. Care to join me?" asked Grim.
"How could I refuse?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The story continues (for these guys, anyway) in LNHCP #21.
Be there or be retconned.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>)
_ _
(>) RETCON HOUR PART 25 (<)
_ _
(>) Tales of the LNH, um, NTB #311 (<)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
(<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>) (<) (>)
_ Due to Retcon Hour......
| | Tales of the
| | =
| | ____ ____ _ ____ ___
| |__ | [] | | [] | | | | [] | | _ \
===============is=CANCELLED!====================
|____| \__] \__ | |_| \__/ |_|\_\
||
|_| OF NET.HEROES
Now appearing as Tales of the Net.Trenchcoat.Brigade
#311: Panta's letter
[ In Tales of the LNH #310, Panta is sent to the Net.Trenchcoat Brigade
by the Dvandom Stranger; she was most likely to be retconed by the
events of Retcon Hour and this would save her. However, Panta finds
herself in Net.si Germany. It's 1944. Not a good time. ]
Outside the train's windows, the German landscape rushed by. Inside the
compartment, Panta, dressed only in her blue one-piece and her collar
with the cat-bell, was faced with a problem.
Standing in front of her was a Reichsbahn official in a black uniform and
thick glasses. He held a hand out to her and just asked Panta for her
papers and tickets. In German.
Unfortunately, Panta had just realized that she didn't speak German, that
her one-piece had no pockets for papers, and even if she had pockets, she
had neither identification papers nor tickets to put in them.
"Damn you, Stranger," she thought to herself.
"Ihre Papiere?" he asked again, squinting at her.
Panta threw her left arm across her breasts and dropped her other hand to
cover herself between her legs and in the classic pose of a woman found
undressed, screamed!
Then drawing on all the German she had ever learned while hanging over the
back of the sofa watching 'Hogan's Heroes' reruns with Time-Wasting Lad and
Procrastination Boy, she yelled, "Raus!"
The Reichsbahn official stumbled backwards, reaching for the compartment door
behind him. "Verzeihenung, meine Dame. Ich komme spater noch mal."
The door slid shut with a little click.
Panta dropped into the seat. "Oh, sh*t! What have you dropped me into, Stranger?
This ain't the LNH world where cat-girls can run around with guys dressed in
colorful costumes. This is a place where realism rules. And if this is really
Net.si Germany, Panta, then if...." She paused and looked out the train window.
"If they catch me," she continued to herself, "I'll be dissected and spread
over millions of slides, and never get to play in the Peril Room again...
She slowly shook her head back and forth, trying to clear her mind. Then she
looked up. The tips of her cat ears had rubbed against something in the luggage
rack over her head.
Overhead was a large battered suitcase.
Panta stood on the seat and manhandled the suitcase to the compartment's floor.
A moment later, she had popped the simple locks and looked inside.
On the top of folded clothes was a thick envelope tied with a red string. Panta
snipped the string with a claw tip and spread the contents of the envelope on
the bench seat beside her.
First, there was a identification booklet. The name on the inside was 'Hildi
P. Bruen' and there was a picture.
Panta stared at the picture; something about the pleasant young woman's face
seemed familiar. The woman in the picture was cute, with short blonde hair and
a stub nose. Panta put it aside and pawed through the rest of the papers. There
were tickets for a train from Munchen to Wurzburg, another train going from
Wurzburg to Hannover, and finally, a third set of tickets that would find her
in Berlin.
Hildi P. Bruen, whoever she was, was a pilot; there was a pilot's license here.
A member of the Net.si party; a membership card with her picture on it.
Panta stopped herself from tossing the membership card aside; again there was
that feeling that she should know the face of the young woman on the card.
Panta tossed the other stuff aside and slumped down into the seat. When she
glanced up at the scenary passing outside, her reflection looked sadly back.
Slowly, Panta realized who Hildi Bruen reminded her of. She threw the Net.si
Party membership card onto the floor and dived into the suitcase, pulling
clothes and underwear and stockings out and tossing them aside. Something
small and hard thumped on the floor as Panta dug through the contents of the
suitcase.
At the bottom of the suitcase were several razors and 10 cans of Super
Strength Hair-Removing 'Nair'. It was Panta's hairless face that was staring
back at her from the identification card and Net.si Party ID card.
Panta sank back onto her haunches. "D*mn you Stranger! D*mn you to h*ll!"
she began swearing. And continued until she ran out of breath and tears.
Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Panta glanced around the compartment
where she had tossed the contents of the suitcase. In addition to the
clothes, there were several books wrapped in paper, several copies of
something called 'Der Adler' and a leather case.
Panta scooted across the compartment floor and reached for the case. It was
deceptively heavy as she picked it up. She opened the latch and emptied it
onto the floor.
Several clips of 9mm Parabellum ammunition rolled onto the floor, followed
by a P08 Luger. Panta had never seen one outside of pictures; she picked it
up and checked it. At least she was armed now; a lot of good it would do her.
She had never held a gun before. Panta gathered the clips and the pistol and
returned it to its leather case.
That left only the long blue envelope. Panta used a claw tip to tear it open
and scanned the contents. It was addressed to Panta, not Hildi Bruen and was
from the Dvandom Stranger.
'My Dearest Panta', the letter began.
'I regret to let you know that your title, 'Tales of the Legion of Net.Heroes'
has been canceled. Word was brought to the Legion of Net.Heroes Headquarters
by a tall, dark and mysterious stranger calling himself, IMPLO, that the title
had been canceled forthwith. He seemed quite upset that he was unable to inform
you, Panta, directly. I had left word with Bad-Timing Boy that you had been
transferred to the Net.Trenchcoat.Brigade. Unfortunately for Bad-Timing Boy,
he stated this fact - in rather bald and insulting terms - to IMPLO. Dr.
Stomper believes that the bandages should come off any day now.'
'However, as 'Tales' is for the moment, a NTB title, you may continue your
adventures. There might be some small problems-'
"You aren't kidding," Panta thought to herself, skimming through the letter.
'and in order to return to the Legion of Net.Heroes Looniverse, you must
attempt to recover the Tiara of Density which is now in the hands of Adolf
Hitler.'
"It can't possibly get any worse," Panta said to herself. She continued
reading.
'Your identity is Hildi Bruen, a Messerschmidt test pilot. It will help
you get into Berlin. The LNH computer predicts that if the Tiara of Density
is not recovered from Der Fueher's vaults, there is a 95% chance that the
Net.sis will be able to complete work on their Death Ray guns and conquer
the world. Signed - A STRANGER'
Panta threw down the letter. "Stranger, you b____d!" she yelled into the air.
"You aren't Al, my name isn't Sam Beckett and this isn't _Quantum Leap_!"
[ Panta is Copyright, Hubert Bartels, 1994. The Dvandom Stranger is copyright,
Dave Van Domelan. All other characters are copyrighted by their creators.
Tigra appears in Marvel Presents #162! She's back. She's back! She's back!!!]
--