Another Story

A dank fog rolled over the blackened expanse that was once called New York City. Rick Jones pulled his leather jacket tighter around his body. Everything seemed colder in the shadow of the spire; all of New York was in the shadow of the spire. No one knew where it came from, only that when it appeared, the rest of the city died. Rick stepped out of the wind into a place called "The Bar with No Name."
"The Bar" had once catered solely to "supervillain" clientele. Now, there were no supervillains left. Since the bar was located underground, it wasn't wiped out in the mysterious cataclysm. "The Bar With No Name" was everyone's bar now. Rick took a seat in a corner of the bar and ordered a drink. A scrawny waitress with dull eyes took another drag off her half-smoked Marlboro Red and dropped a dirty glass of dirtier water in front of him.
As Rick quietly nursed his drink, his eyes scanned the room. In the dim lights, it took him several minutes to realize he recognized another face in the bar. Someone else recognized that face, too.
"Hey, you're him, ain't ya?" The voice belonged to a rippling mass of muscle with a jagged scar running down one side of his face. The man was flanked by five greasy-looking thugs. He spoke again. "Well, ain't ya?"
"Please just let me finish my beer in peace," moaned the man. Rick couldn't help but pity the man he'd once thought of as an enemy. The man with the scar drove his massive fist downward into the table, spilling beer and pretzels everywhere.
It's you, isn't it?" screamed the man with the scar. "You're the Wizard, aren't you?"
"I was the Wizard," came the feeble reply. "I was, before the Cataclysm. But now..."
"Now, New York's nothing but a pile of ash! Now we're all trapped here by that strange energy wall that blocks out the sun! That's a supervillain plot if ever I heard one!"
"Well I didn't do it!" wailed the Wizard. "Why would I-?"
"Why would anyone?" asked the man with the scar. His hand twisted around the Wizard's neck, and hauled the frail old man out of his seat, slamming him against the wall. One of the other punks pulled a knife from his coat, and handed it to their leader. "Maybe you did it, and maybe you didn't. But the way I see it, cutting you up a little can't hurt, right?" The Wizard whimpered, and RIck closed his eyes. The blade gleamed in the light.
"Let him go." Everyone in the bar turned to face the newcomer. The man was tall, with a lean, powerful build. His face was lined with two days of stubble, and his clothes clung to his body as though he'd worn them for several months on end. Still, there was a raw power about the man. This was a man who'd discovered his purpose in life, and pulled himself together from nothing.
"Let him go." There was no mistaking the command in the voice this time. Perhaps unconsciously, the man with the scar unclenched his hand. The Wizard dropped thickly to the floor. The man with the scar pointed the edge of his knife toward the Wizard's would-be rescuer. Their eyes met- coldly. And then the man charged. As the knife blade made its way toward the stranger's heart, the man ducked to one side. His hands were almost a blur as he scooped an empty beer bottle from the nearest table. With a racing backhand swing, the stranger smashed the bottle against the scarred man's face. The knife fell to the floor. It's wielder was just behind. Pandemonium broke loose.
The scarred man's stooges were the first to start trouble, breaking chairs and overturning tables around themselves. Soon, though, the whole bar broke out into a riotous brawl. Its patrons were all native New Yorkers. All of them had been trapped in the city by the strange event known only as the Cataclysm. The fight that broke out in the bar was a grand catharsis of broken bottles and swinging chairs.
Rick gritted his teeth and steeled his nerves, then leapt into the fray. He pushed up the sleeves on his brown leather jacket, revealing a pair of finally crafted golden armbands. Rick's body hummed with energy as beams of light and darkness flew from his hands, knocking opponents this way and that. As the furor of the battle intesified, Rick hurled tables and chairs at the bar's neareast patrons, steadily making his way toward the Wizard's unconscious form and the enigmatic man who so fiercely protected it. Soon, the two were guarding one another from harm, each keeping a watchful eye on his own back for good measure. Eventually, the battle subsided. Everyone left in the bar was dead, too wounded to continue fighting, or too afraid to continue the fight. Rick turned to his newfound ally.
"You fight a hell of a fight, son," the man drawled.
"I should say the same about you," replied Rick, holding out his hand. "My name is Rick. Rick Jones." The man's gaze turned steely for a moment, as he ran an apprasising stare down Rick's body. Finally, he took Rick's hand in his own.
"Bill," said the man. "Bill Schoefeld. But you can call me 'The Terrifying Mitch.'"
"The Terrifying Mitch?" Rick gasped. "Then- then you're the one I was here to find!" Rick's eyes darted around the room, acutely aware of too many men's stares. "Not here," Rick whispered. He pulled his sleeves back down around his wrist bands, and headed for the door. After a few moments, Bill followed.
When they were safely outside, Rick continued his explanation, "There's been talk. Rumors mostly, but these days that's all anyone's got. They say that there are thsoe who understand the Cataclysm. They even say maybe someone can fix it, make things like they used to be. They say maybe you're that man, and that's why I came to find you. Is it true?" Rick's eyes shone hopefully. "Could you be everything they say?" Bill paused for a moment, as if considering the question.
"It may be true," he said. "It may be true that someone can make it all right again. But I'm only part of that solution. If you're serious about wanting it all back..." He looked at Rick again, waiting for a reaction.
"Oh, I am!" Rick cried, eagerly. "I am serious! I'd- well, I'd give anything. Now that Bruce and Cap are dead. Now that Marlo's... well, she's as good as dead, anyway. I'll give anything to set it right." Bill nodded.
"All right then. There's someone you should meet."
Rick was blindfolded, and led through a series of side streets and back alleyways. After what seemed like about an hour's walk, the blindfold came off. Rick was standing in the middle of a converted bomb shelter, probably in the sub-sub-basement of a local building. Food packed one wall; weapons packed another. The shelter was filled with a veritable army of nondescript persons. As Rick scanned the crowd with his eyes, he would've sworn he saw the same man four or five times in the room.
"Behold," said Bill with a flourish, "The Army of the Night- mankind's last hope for survival."
"Who are all these people?" asked Rick.
"No one you would know," Bill replied with a wry grin. "And that's the whole point. The one thing no one here will do is tell you their name. We address one another by physical descriptions, nicknames, that sort of thing. But no one here has an identity."
"No identity?" stammered Rick. "But- but-?"
"Why?" asked Bill. "Because identity is our one greatest threat. I first built this theory as I examined the list of those already dead or vanished. You remember superheroes?" Rick nodded. "Gone. They're all gone. Supervillains, too. And then went the peacekeepers, the in-between guys, like the guys at S.H.I.E.L.D. Not all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, mind you- just the noteworthy ones. Then went personalities, like Trish Tilby off the TV. And that model chick, Mary Jane Watson-Parker. She and her famous husband, Pete- they're gone, too. I started thinking that maybe it was being noticeable that was getting us folks killed. And then I met someone who told me how right I was."
"But we saw the Wizard, at the bar!" Rick said, frustrated. "How was he-?"
"Not destroyed? Oh, but he was. His technology is all vanished, his intellect was reduced to "normal" standards- even his arrogance was toned way down. Sure, not quite everyone is dead, technically. But there aren't anymore noteworthy people. Not like you and I think of them."
"Then how come I know your name? How come you haven't been destroyed?"
"Well, that's like our special secret. There's someone here who can tell you more about that than I can. Come on."
Bill led Rick through a series of tunnels and doors, ending finally in a small war room deep beneath New York City. Inside, seven people sat in a half circle. Bill motioned for Rick to have a seat. Once Rick was down, Bill pointed to the man in the middle of the room.
He was an average man of average height and average build, with a thick blue cloak pulled around his body. The hood was drawn to cover his face.
"Who are you?" Rick asked.
"I cannot tell you my real name, of course," said the man somberly. "But you may call me 'the Storyteller.' This name is quite appropriate now, for I am about to reveal to you the nature of the Cataclysm- and how we may stop it." Rick leaned forward, intent on listening.
"It began with a wish," said the Storyteller. "Three young men from a world far from here. Three young men who shared a wish- the wish to live and learn in the world of their heroes. A world very much like this one, Rick Jones. A world that ours might once have been, and may yet be. Through a means I'm not yet prepared to reveal, those three young men found their wish granted, and together gained fantastic powers while righting the wrongs of their adopted universe. One of the young men, though, was not content with the power he received. One man found himself wanting more, and the rage an jealousy grew inside of him as his friends' powers increased, while his diminished.
"This young man developed a new wish- a wish for more power. And he, once more, had the opportunity to see this wish granted. You see, this third young man, through cosmic chance or divine circumstance, frequently came across great power- power enough to change the world. But, Fate knew that no one person could shoulder such a great burden for very long. So, as soon as this young man gained phenomenal power, he lost them again. Until the conclusion of one adventure, when with wit and trickery the young man gained a boon from the god I know you know well- Loki, the Trickster God, whose plans you upset so long ago- he wished for a way to keep the power that he knew would come to him. Loki was forced to agree, and this young man's power grew even more."
"The Enigma Force. The Cosmic Cube. The Norn Stones. The Phoenix Force. The Kree Omni-Wave Projector. All these powers and more made their way to this young man. And with each newfound power, the young man fell further and further into insanity."
"Eventually, he realized, someone would find a way to strip him of the power he possessed. His only choice was to rid the world of anyone and everyone who might try to stop him. That, Rick, is when the Cataclysm struck. That is when the buildings of New York were laid to waste, its heroes were destroyed, and the massive globe of energy which looms above our heads, blocking out the sun and keeping every one of us trapped within, first wavered into existence. That is when the Age of Heroes came to an end, Rick. Now begins the Age of Kyle!"
"This is all so amazing," Rick stammered. "But how- how do you know all this? Are you- are you one of the three friends?"
"No," said the Storyteller, pulling down his hood. "Don't be surprised that you do not recognize me. You've seen me before, I'm certain, but never while I looked like this, and I'm afraid I can't give you the name you would recognize. No, I am not one of those three friends. But I did meet one of them, the one with which I have perhaps the greatest connection, in a place out of time in a time that never actually existed. I learned then of the bond I share with all three of them, and all was made clear to me. Do you understand?"
"I think I'm starting to," Rick said. "But then what can we do about it? You said you have a plan?"
"We do have a plan," said the Storyteller. "There is one among us who can travel outside of New York." Rick's eyes opened wide.
"You know someone who can Travel? But I thought Kyle killed them all! Who? Who could this person be?" In answer, Rick felt the cold butt of a neatly polished handgun press against his temple.
"Don't think we'll ever tell you," Bill said, through gritted teeth. "Do you really think we're as foolish as all that? Sure, as a superhero sidekick, you weren't as famous as, say, the Avengers or the X-Men. But when people like J. Jonah Jameson of the Daily Bugle start disappearing, your name definitely ought to have been on the long list. Care to tell us what you're doing here? And walking? And carrying around two artifacts of power? I'd watch your answers real close, 'cause if I don't like them, I'll splatter your brain across the floor."
Rick fell to his knees, hunched over. As everyone in attendance watched, horrified, Rick gagged, choked, and vomited a sticky green mass onto the floor. Bill turned the gun away from Rick, pointing it at the heap of alien waste. Suddenly, the green puddle lunged off the floor and wrapped itself around Bill's face. Rick turned to face the rest of the rebels, his eyes glowing with orange fire. He spoke in a voice not his own.
"There's no stopping us now, fools! Ooze is all that remains of the Skrull who thought so foolishly to take the place of our Lord and Master, Kyle. What makes you think any of you will fare any better?" Rick laughed a ghastly, inhuman laugh, and brought his Nega-Bands together with a CLANG. There was a flash of brilliant light, and when their sight cleared, the rebels found themselves facing the Nega-Men, Kyle's elite team of enforcers.
Help for the rebels poured immediately down the tunnels, but though the rebels had the advantage in numbers, the power belonged entirely to the Nega-Men. Killing Time acted first, darting in and out among rebels, her katana blade flashing at lightning speed. Many were dead before they had time to register pain. Those who survived Killing Time's initial attack were immediately bludgeoned to death by the twin onslaught of the Brat's mammoth fists and Madame Talula's whirling brick. Any of the rebels fortunate enough to pull back as the battle began were quickly silenced by the bloody strands of barbed wire which appeared around their necks, conjured from nothing by Garrote's force of will alone. It was a bloodbath. And through the center of the carnage strode a man not only cloaked in, but seemingly composed of, inky blackness. The only points of color on the figure's body were his two white, pupilless eyes, and the twin bands of gold clasped around his wrists. He was the only thing left people feared as much as Kyle himself. He was the Negative Man.
With a mighty heave, Bill expelled the alien biomass from his body. "Nice try, Ooze," said Bill, obviously shaken. "But if there's anything my years as an alcoholic taught me, it's how to get things I don't want out of my body."
The Negative Man strode calmly to face the Storyteller. Neither man spoke for a long time. Finally, it was the Storyteller who broke the silence, his voice as calm as it had been moments earlier.
"You can't kill me, you know," he said. "Perhaps you could have, once, but that time is long since past."
"We'll see," said the Negative Man. Negative energy erupted from his body, rolling across the Storyteller in a cacophony of pain and fire. When the blast subsided, nothing remained of the Storyteller but a tattered blue cloak.
Two of the young rebel men sprang forward, each curling themselves around one of the Negative Man's arms. Before the Dark One could shrug the two off with his mighty strength, the two boys pushed his arms together with all their might. The Negative Man wailed in anger as the Nega-Bands resounded with a CLANG, and he and all the other Nega-Men vanished. The youngest of the rebels, a pretty, shy teenager who didn't dare remember her own name, slammed one of her worn-out old boots into the side of Rick Jones' head. The traitor fell to the floor, unconscious.
"The Storyteller is...gone," said Bill, after a moment. "The Nega-Men are gone, and I doubt they'll find their way back here immediately, but we don't dare wait for them to return. I'm afraid it's time to push our plan into high gear. We're going to have to attack the Spire."

* * *
Early the next morning, as dawn was breaking outside of Kyle's Wall of Energy, crowds gathered at the base of the Spire. Throngs of nameless, faceless individuals who nonetheless had marshaled the strength to defend their way of life armed themselves with rocks, bottles, signposts, and whatever else they could get their hands on, and marched straight up to the base of Kyle's stronghold.
From the highest window, the new Sovereign of New York stared down at the masses below, and laughed.
"Arrogant fools," boomed Kyle. "What hope do they have against me?" His eyes glowed with fire as he telepathically summoned the Negative Man to his side. "You've served me well since our arrival in this dimension, Charles," Kyle said. "Continue in that service. Destroy the rebels now, once and for all." The eerie black mass that had once been the Negative Man's head cocked slightly downward in a mock bow, and then, the Negative Man was gone. Kyle turned back to his place at the window, and simled grimly at the sight of the Negative Man and his Nega-Men marching out to meet the crowd. The chaos which followed was a glorious sight to Kyle's megalomania.
"I still don't feel right about this," hissed the young woman. She looked back at the crowd, trying to drown out the screams of anguish that rose from their mouths.
"None of us feel right about it," Bill cautioned. "But it was our only option. With all those brave, beautiful people distracting the Nega-Men, we might just have a chance to save our world." He pulled out the knife he'd won in yesterday's barroom brawl, and with measured force, drove the blade to the hilt into one of the spire's walls. From there, it was easy enough to carve out a small entrance for himself and his companions; the wall seemed no denser than cork. Bill pulled himself through. The two young men by his side followed, and the young woman brought up the rear. Bill noticed with regret that she turned one last gaze on the crowd. "I'm sorry," he said. She seemed to know what he meant.
The Spire itself was no miracle of modern architecture. A single spiral staircase led up to the upper floors, where the path diverged in two. "This is where we break," Bill said. "Whatever else happens, I wish you three the best of luck. Remember, you're the last hope for everything that's wonderful." The three young people nodded, then ran down the corridor to the right. Bill turned to his left, and walked slowly to the end of the hall.
As the three companions entered their final destination, each gasped at the sight they beheld. They were standing in the middle of an exquisite ballroom, with polished mahogany floors and four crystal chandeliers hanging from each corner. The opulence of the room alone was enough to astonish, but it was the contents of the room that the three friends found so amazing. The room was filled with piles and piles of toys.
Board games, teddy bears, action figures, video games, dolls, rocking horses, skateboards, and puppets carpeted the room. Even more amazing, some highly recognizable artifacts were strewn about the room with a casual indifference. In one corner, one of the Teletubbies was wearing the Serpent Crown. In another, the Cosmic Cube had been transformed into a simple (unsolved) puzzle box. And in the center of the room lay the man for whom those toys had been gathered.
"He does exist," whispered the lanky blond man.
"Everything the Storyteller said was true," breathed the taller, more muscular of the two men. "It's really him. It's the Scavenged One."
Bill pushed open the massive wooden door and stared into the face of hte man responsible for so much heartache.
"How satisfying," sneered Kyle, licking his lips. "It's nice having beings like the Negative Man around to do my dirty work, but sometimes it feels so good to do things for yourself!"
Bill reached behind his belt and pulled out a single bottle of whisky. He looked down at his weapon reflectively. "I gave up alcohol for good after the Cataclysm. I guess I owe you that much. Still, there's nothing quite so balanced and perfect as these bottles. Don't you agree?"
Kyle's eyes flashed, and energy from innumerable cosmic forces spun from his hands. The brute telekinetic strength was enough to liquefy diamond. That strength twined itself around Bill, weaving a cocoon of energy that should have kept him from moving at all.
Undaunted, Bill took a single step forward.
"It all makes sense," one of them said. "Kyle had the unlimited power to destroy anyone who could've been a threat, but he didn't have unlimited knowledge."
"Right," added another. "And even Kyle couldn't name everyone anyone had ever heard of in the entire universe!"
"Only the third friend, Joe, could do something like that," finished the last of them. "So Kyle stripped his friend's mind away, and took all that knowledge for himself."
The drooling, giggling body of the young man who had once been a superhero bounced up and down, as though happy to be finally understood. He slammed two toys together in the air as a form of applause. The three young people put their hands on the Scavenged One's shoulders.
"Joe," they said, together. "You're not just a drooling, babbling idiot! You're not just a child's mind in an adult's body! You're the only other person who can think the way Kyle's thinking now. You're the only one who can outsmart yourself! There's got to be a way to get out of here, Joe- there's got to be a way to put things right! If anyone can think of it, it's you!"
The pretty, shy young girl knelt in front of the Scavenged One. "Joe," she said," Listen to me. My name is Anna Ortize. I'm somebody, Joe. Do you understand? I'm a real live person, and I can make a difference."
"I'm Martin DeBella," said the muscular young man. "I have a name; I have power."
The last young man spoke up. "I'm Jason Jupiter," he said. "Believe in us, Joe. Believe we can set things right."
Behind the glassy stares and childlike smile, Anna, Martin, and Jason saw a glimmer of recognition. But then, the End of the World was upon them.
"Nice try, you fucking psychopath," said Bill, "But it looks like I'm immune to your power." Kyle roared in anger, and uprooted the bookshelf nearest Bill. The furniture flew at Bill at breakneck speed, and shattered as it crashed against his body. Bill didn't even flinch. "You can't do it, can you?" he taunted. "You can't defeat me- your mind won't let you. Maybe you think I'm too silly to be bothered with. Maybe some small part of you sees what evil you've done, and is letting me win to put an end to it all. But maybe, just maybe, you remember one time with the one foe you couldn't ever beat. Maybe part of you, deep down, is afraid, because you know I'm stronger than you are." Bill took his final step, putting himself in arm's length of Kyle. The whiskey bottle lashed out, striking Kyle in the side of the head. New York's Supreme Being fell to the floor, blood trickling down the side of his face. All of the pain, all of the frustration, and all of the rage inside Kyle boiled his power to newfound heights. A cosmically powered, stellarly charged telekinetic Phoenix of pure energy drove itself out of Kyle's body, through the floor of the Spire, and charged into the center of the Earth.
Bleeding and wounded people knew that they were about to die, but would die as heroes, even without their names.
The Negative Man looked to the top of the tower and knew that his Master had been defeated. He sank deeper into his own Negative Zone energies, wishing the icy coldness of space could replace the warmth of the heart he lost long ago.
The Terrifying Mitch hung his head in shame. The battle was won, but at a price too terrible to pay. He thought of his allies, his friends, and he hoped that their plan succeeded.
Anna, Martin, and Jason were gone.
Joe smiled triumphantly, and wiped the drool from his chin.
Kyle lay his head against the stone floor, closed his eyes, and softly whispered:
"Oh, damn."