3A: Atomic Pageantry

“Ooh boy, you’re in for another show here folks. See, it’s been a hell of a ride over the past several months. Whatever happened to the fella who was tarred as a guy whose only talent was twisting others words? Those were fun times. I’d get to twist those words up while denying that I’m doing it AND simultaneously saying that it doesn’t even matter that I am.

What, you didn’t think I believed my own bullshit about that did you? Well that’s how I’ve played you fuckers so easily for so damn long. I’ve constructed a fucking story around myself that is impenetrable. Not because it isn’t full of holes - lord, have mercy! It’s like a block of cheddar up in this sumbitch! - but instead because it doesn’t matter if it is. And I’m the only one who has ever gotten that. See… I play the game of ‘gotcha’ that we all pretend we’re not playing. And I get caught out. BUT! I never get caught out on anything of substance.

Because I never put anything of substance up for you fuckholes to try and shove a stick through.

Now, I’m not out here telling you that the stories I tell all of you aren’t real or anything like that. You can follow the paper trail and find that I have never once cashed one of the XWF’s cheques, and I’m not exactly one of the million wrestling millionaires we inexplicably have - so creating fancy set pieces, or whatever version of what I’m selling Charlie Nickles wants to ascribe to me this week, is a bit out of the question. BUT-times-two!! It's this back-and-forth shit I'm talking about. I am telling you that the extent to hlw damn overt I’ve been at sucking you fuckers into this sorta ‘no u’ game has all been part of a game all on its own for me. And I’m really fucking good at it.

Which begs the question… what happens when I don’t play the game? Look at me, here, right now, not even waiting for another sound bite to snatch up and run through the ALIAS-filter. I’ve been doing this a fair bit recently too, kids, so… what's changed? More importantly, what’ve you learned? Do you see the way that I see the world yet? Or maybe you see the chink in my armour? My Achilles heel? Well hey… Achilles was one of Athena’s favourites, so maybe you’ve got to look in Raion Kido’s direction for that one.

I don’t have an Achilles heel.

I don’t have a weakness.

Because I’ve fucking built myself that way.

Every game I play, I win. And here I am on a different game, right? Just ALIAS doing ALIAS things for the hell of it. Rest a-fucking-ssured I'm going to win. Pray tell, why would I be changing the game like this though? I’d love to say it’s because I’m about go spend the next few weeks getting fucking loaded on a beach in Mallorca, BUT-the-third!!! The truth is, I’m doing this again - blowing my sanctioned load across your face early rather than waiting to shit all your own words right back down your fucking throat after your feeble attemptes to eat me just result in you eating my ass - because I can. Yeesh… that was a fucking mouthful wasn't it? But it's true! Because no matter what any of you fuckers try to pull out of your aresenal, you don’t have what it takes to pierce this thick fucking skin I’ve created.

See, I can snap, get all angry at what you say, and STILL spin it as if I'm not that I’m not worked up after all, AND instead you’re the one looking like a fool. That’s not just a claim, guys! I’ve fucking done it!

I can flat out fucking lie to make myself look good, get caught out, and then spin it so not only do I NOT have to admit that I’m wrong, but I can also completely discard the question of whether or not anybody should even care if I was lying! Again, it’s not just me making this stuff up! This is not the lie. I’ve fucking done it!

I can do whatever the fuck I want, and not a single one of you can leave a goddamn scratch on my face. And that’s what makes Dolly Waters interesting. Because she didn’t try to. I’ve said it before how I found that to be an interesting approach. One that I’ve never really faced before and a true reflection of why she’s in this match to begin with! Dolly’s a think-outside-of-the-box kinda gal. And I like that. BUT-BUT-BUT-BUT!!!! (That’s four, fam!) But Dolly needs to get to thinking about how all of that lines up against what I’ve just announced to the world that I’m doing.

How does that approach deal with a guy to whom truth is empirically relative?

Dolly, I told you didn’t I? I made a song and dance about asking you whether or not you’re actually ready for this. Forget the envelope that I said I’d leave my answer in, friend, I’m just going to flat out tell you.

No.

I don’t.

Not unless you can put aside that fucking bullshit about trying to stop me from going down a path you don’t want to see me go down. ‘Cause that worked so fucking well with Thad, didn’t it? Shit, I could probably straight up murder ol’ RL and you’d only be pissed for what, three months? Maybe four? Now I do like the idea of someone’s entire fucking motivation being me, but if you can’t get in the way between me and MY motivation, then you’re gonna go the same way as the other fuckheads but without the saving grace of at least swinging against the fucking wind. You’ve told us why you WANT to beat me, Dol’. But why are you going to? How are you going to? What the fuck are you going to do that everybody else hasn’t already fucking tried? Can you, of all people, penetrate the fucking field I’ve built around myself.

You’re in a better position than most. You and I have had conversations that don’t involve me sticking my middle finger in the air and making some sort of reference to eating you. You’ve seen further behind the veil than most. But do you think that you’ve seen The Real? Do you think that you’ve peeled it far enough back to do the fucking impossible?

You can see why I’d be sceptical, right?

Everyone fucking thinks they have. Charlie’s had chance after chance and still struggles to see his fucking pecker over that tub of lard he calls a gut, let alone see ya boy’s true form. Raion’s even further behind the fucking ball game. That dumb sonofabitch aimed a dildo-tipped bow from that goofy hentai shit that is literally his entire personality at some form of ALIAS that he thought existed, only to get some real key fucking details wrong. Hope you’re starting to get the picture here though, Rai-Rai. Hope you’re starting to understand that I’m not the megalomaniac monster-of-the-week type here. I’m the kind of guy who can start this whole thing off talking about how many lies I spin, and still stand here, look you in the eye, and factually tell you that everything that I’ve ever said has a whole fuckload of justification behind it. ‘Cause you’re viewing the world as if you’re some sort of noble hero. BUT-for-five!!!!! This ain’t your story, cunt. It’s mine. And to me? You’re an entitled piece of shit trying to diminish MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE, and take away the very thing that reminds me of how far I’ve come from! FUCK YOU! That makes you the villain. And villains tend to lose, bud. Just like Bastards.

You know, the worst part about Charlie Nickles being in this thing is that it makes it so bloody obvious how low the talent pool here has sunk. When I start thinking about who gets that buzz going around the fighting world, I’m starting to see fewer and fewer of them come our way. Who are the most exciting new additions we’ve had? Raion? Stomped by the guy I stomped. Mac Bane? Stomped by a different guy that I stomped. Garry Nelson? The guy who has immediately jumped on the forked Duke dick that just gapped? Yeah… let’s see how long that fucker sticks around for. What’s happened here, people, is that I’ve been beating on Charlie over-and-over now, that the message has gotten out! The XWF is ALIAS’s Universe. To do anything of note here, you’ve gotta be able to keep up with me. And that’s a pretty fucking daunting task when they could all run over to OCW just in time for the next purge, right?

But the reason I’m bringing this up is because I’VE FUCKING BEATEN EVERYBODY HERE. Or at least, through the transitive property I have. The North Korean War Criminal excepted. And yeah, that sorta logic doesn’t always hold up in this kind of thing. A beats B, B beats C, C beats A, is a common relational frame that we see.

Not with me though.

Nope.

A beats B.

A beats C.

A beats D.

Big Daddy A beats E. E for everyone.

So Charlie, I’m assuming we’re going to do this again. I honest-to-God am. And soon. But don’t think for one fucking second that it is any way a reflection of you being close enough to even sniff the dog-shit remains of you on the bottom of my shoe from the last time that I stepped on you. I’m going to dance again with Raion too, I’m sure. Especially if I stand here and keep saying BRING ‘EM ALL AT ONCE. Shit, maybe I should be my own team at War Games and just put it all to fucking rest!

But as long as each of you keeps coming at me with this weak shit, then the outcome isn’t going to change. As long as each of you fail to parse through the fucking apparitions and see what’s a’coming down the pipeline, each of you are going to keep falling flat on your face.

Believe it or not, I want to be beatable. I’ve been trying to help motherfuckers stop me since I danced with Old Man Lou back at fucking Mayday last year! Because this confidence? This arrogance? This pounding on my chest and telling all of you that you aren’t fucking shit when compared to me? That’s been building since then too. And I’ve talked about how it all builds haven’t I?

Oh sure the XWF existed before me, and it’ll exist long after. Whenever that might be. But right now? This is the fucking house that ALIAS built. And every single alleged wolf that comes along huffs and puffs and then runs out of fucking steam. ‘Cause I didn’t build this motherfucker out of flimsy shit like straw, sticks, or even bricks. Nah, I went for something stronger. Titanium? Vibranium? Adamantium? Stronger still! You cocksuckers are all so goddamn thick-headed that I made my house inside your motherfucking heads.

ALIAS is this. ALIAS is that. Shit, ALIAS ain’t all that.

Think it all; say it all; I’ve heard it all. Every time it’s wrong.

The one thing that none of you can fucking answer me is what makes this time different. NOBODY ANSWERS THAT. They say ‘bEcAuSe I’m NoT lIkE tHe OtHeRs’. They say ‘BeCaUsE i’Ve FiGuReD yOu OuT’. But all of that shit is still the same fucking thing that the last guy said. Charlie Nickles is still out here saying the same shit he’s tried twice and failed on. Raion is trying the shit that motherfuckers were doing over a fucking year ago. And Dolly? Different, yes. We should throw a fucking parade! But she’s out here saying she doesn’t even want the Universe.

Cool, Dol’.

There’s the fucking door.

‘Cause if you don’t want none, you don’t need to get none. It’s as easy as that.

But you’re not walking away are you? How many times have people told you to? Just like… in general?

I don’t mean it like they do though. I just mean that YOU know what I’ll do to keep the Universe. Charlie fucking knows by now too. And Raion… well he doesn’t even know what fucking year it is. Or that I already killed Athena just before slayin’ Aphrodite last year.

So if you don’t want to be a part of it, don’t. Simple as that.

But if you’re gonna be a guest in my house. You play by my fucking rules.

At the Cannabis Cup, we’ll fight anywhere in the Velvet Rabbit. The fight’s already over though, in your fucking heads where I live. And it’s not because I play mind games. It’s not because I’m making you doubt yourself, or in Dolly’s case anymore than she already would.

It’s because of what I said at the start of this here diatribe.

When you look at me and start flailing… you don’t even know where to hit.

That’s why I don’t feel it.

That’s why I just keep on doing ALIAS things.

Eating you. From the inside out.

And it’s why I’ll continue to do so for months after this match. No matter what happens. No matter who winds up under my foot.

Yours sincerely,
Then, now, and forever,
The Master of the fucking Universe.”

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3B: You and I



Look at you. A mangy stray just looking for somewhere warm to come into from out of the dark.

Look at you. Fur matted like a wet dog, with all the odour and parasites to go with it.

Look at you. Really fucking look at yourself. What are you trying to accomplish here?

Whether you want to be the hero or the villain isn't really what's important. And that’s fortunate for you, because let's face it, you can never fucking decide. What you want to focus on, instead, is being the protagonist, isn't it? The centre of the fucking Universe. Well congratulations, you crusted bitch, you did it!

Cue the round of applause. Hooray for you.

So there you stand, right? Feet coated in a swirling, incorporeal goo that seems designed solely to add a flare of mystery and otherwordly-ness to the bullshit. And there's a kaleidoscope of lights coming from beyond the pale. A rainbow of shitfuckery. It's such a special occasion. You're here! You're finally here! Don't drop the mug.

You might not understand that reference. Recognise, perhaps - if you're a regular follower. But understand? Hmph. Doubtful. Because you've been strung along on it for a while. That broken mug. That harbinger of… well, you know if you know. In a sense, there's an appeal to a hapless helplessness with it all. These things just keep happening, don't they? To you. A bunch of blah-blah followed by some more blah-blah. This is your fucking story.

At least you can rest easy knowing that you're not alone. Look around you. Look at this vast, indeterminable abyss. The world has seeped away and behind? Just people. And now… look at their faces. Old and young, they grin at you with missing teeth. And some show no face at all. What a fucking mystery. So super pseudo-mystical and yadda yadda yadda.

You see Lance there, don't you?

Yes, you do.

The face of the operation!

But the operation was never what you thought. The movement. What a rort. He fucked with you this whole time. Lance the 'BEST FRIEND'. Did you never pick up the signals? The discrete changes?

No.

Of course you didn't.

They were there. They built from day-to-day, as was always said. But without spelling them out for you, you were kinda fucked.

Lance was responsible for it all. Lance is the fucking reason that you've had to deal with this time-skipping, space-hopping, 'maybe it is-maybe it isn't' nonsense for damn near eighteen months. What, you thought he was some harmless dweeb latching himself to the motherfucking Space Jesus?

Lance is the motherfucking devil.

So the question that YOU need to ask yourself is… how was it that you were so easily fooled?

Even in his own words, and what he chose to EMPHASISE, things were always askew. Right down to the ALIAS.

"From my point of view…" you listen to Lance begin to drone, "...Everything went rather swimmingly. I caught you, hook, line and sinker, and reeled you in like you were nothing more than a sardine stuffed into a can. Which you are. I put you in it."

You're not much interested in his supervillain-like gloating though, are you? Sure his voice is different - distant and multiple - but that's not enough for you. Anyone could see your eyes glazing over from here. That's okay, you can be saved the worst of it. It’s the beauty of making shit up in a metaphysical void like this! Call it camera tricks, mere story-telling, or a true blue bonafide supernatural mystery - either way, you can just hop, skip, and jump over whatever parts you want!

You're smart enough to follow this, right? You're smart enough to twist your perverted little brain into whatever shape it needs to be to fit through the hole that this Bastard-Taming cock has fucked in the fabric of space-time. It's a celestial glory holes, and it's time to get to sucking!

I, on the other hand, am smart enough to know that there are really only a couple of parts to Lance's evil scheme that you’re interested in hearing. The end goal is kind of stupid and after thinking back to some of the more recent hints, you feel like you had kind of figured it out. He's been absorbing people like some sort of soul vampire to get all superpowered and shit. It started before your time, and finished up here in 2040. The whole thing is kinda screwy - you don’t even believe in souls! But there he is, speaking with the voice of many, including the twangs of some you know.

Dani is in there

That's what happened to her. You figured it out!

And he wants to use you to get more.

The other question that you've likely been mulling over is why he tried to kill himself after having his ear severed.

"It was so easy to control you," he announces, like he had never seen a James Bond movie. "All I had to do was position you as my 'saviour', my 'hero'. And you would do whatever it was that I needed."

And that's all the rationale you need in order to understand.

And if you don’t… well, that was on you.

Another new piece of information is how he’s trying to change his name on you. Not Lance. Whether he ever even was remains unknown.

He calls himself Yeomna. The God of Death.

Paritegi, the Daughter of ALIAS sniggers at the sound of it. She knows a thing or two about names. The older version of her - the North Korean War Queen - stands there next to not-Lance, and removes her mask.

Where her face once was is now a vacant shell.

Gosh, it’s all happening rather quickly isn’t it? It all continues to whiz by. But you’re keeping up! Hopefully.

Her grandmother steps forward. So too, does the Angel Doctor. They pledge their fealty to Yeomna.

To death.

You figure you know how that goes.



So that's what you see unfold.

Heads separated from their bodies.

With ease.

Oh shit. Now you’re thinking that it all seems a bit rushed. Lance is revealed as some super-evil mastermind and already he's exploded into a mix of blood and gore to the point that you can no longer even separate the pieces that were him from the pieces that were his companions. What? You didn't expect forgiveness, did you? You didn't expect a lot back and forth about the merits of the fucking world and whether it should even survie? That’d be dumb if you thought that. Lance tried to use others for his own fucking purposes, and new name or old name, that was never going to fucking fly.

Besides, you know a thing or two about names, don't you?

Say it aloud. Your name. SAY IT!

Poof!

—BLINK!—

Maybe some sort of popping sound, like a shoulder dislodging from its socket. Make it visceral. Make it weird.

But with the sound, you come.

You're there.

Standing in a line with a million other dumbstruck faces.

You clap, you cheer, your raise the fucking roof! All for the protagonist.

What a joke. Yes, you.

You did this. You made this happen. Lance-not-Lance may have created this Otherworld, but it was done as some sort of distorted love letter to you. Because he wanted to extract you from it. This, therefore, has been nothing more than a twisted distortion of your reality - contorting on a whim or fancy.

My whim.

You think I wasn't aware of what that little skeezeball was up to? You think I didn't recognise the primal rage of my own spirit daughter? You think I couldn't fucking FEEL the presence of my Angel? I wasn't fucking beaten, last time my other self came a'knocking. I let myself be taken down! For Lance! Except… Lance didn't use me. I used him.

He made a miscalculation.

Make no bones about it children, I am, and have always been, the final fucking boss fight.

That fucking congo line you form is leading directly to ME.

The only person who can beat ALIAS is ALIAS.

So ALIAS now dangles by the throat over the edge of everything. One drop and you'll watch the little cunt die.

Hold onto your motherfucking coffee cups!

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3C: I and You



How did I get this all so wrong?

Lance killed Dani. That's what he's telling me. He swallowed her fucking essence or something corny like that. And the War Queen - she was supposed to be my daughter! Now, her face is gone the same way as her name. Tossed away in service of what? Her grandmother and my captors?

It's all so… surreal.

This war, this Otherworld... it seemed as if it was building to a crescendo. And now? The rug has just been pulled out from under it.

And Lance, or Yeomna, or MY NEXT FUCKING MEAL is just standing there taunting me.

"I made you," he tells me. "I made you what you are. You were built for this. For me!"

And I know I was.

My Angel is right there next to him. How many years did she plague me with fire, with lightning, with drugs and violence? How many times were things put where they shouldn't have been? How many times did they try to take me away from myself! But I'm fucking here, you wretched hag! You tried to take my fucking name, but I took it back!

I AM ALIAS!

I couldn't even utter that sentence a year ago (in my time), but now look at what it entails!

"Fulfil your purpose," Lance keeps fucking yapping. His eyes were black and he spoke with the sound of a thousand other voices. "Listen to the sound of my voice. Follow it. Eat the world. Give me the universe."

There was some other shit too, but he said what he shouldn't have said.

He wants the Universe.

But that’s mine.



And the rest of his sycophantic posse goes the same way. Even her. My 'daughter'. Or whatever had become of her. For a moment there, I wondered how Lance Yeomna ever thought that laying out his plan like this would work? It was only as I reduced him back to stardust that I realised the answer.

I had already figured out the ploy.

But not me, if that made sense.

I was staring at myself on the other side of the mountain; the tower; the void; or whatever other shape I wanted to construct.

The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed.

I reached for my holster. A tiny hand finds its way into my own. I look down and know that my 'daughter' is still here. That wasn't her with the hole for the face. That was his.

It only dawns on me now that my version of Lance would still be back in my reality too. I wonder if that's how the High Lord figured it all out too. Did he stand here, just as I am now, staring down a version of himself? The questions of whether the Universe is linear or not have thus gone unanswered through this little adventure. But I can't be doomed to repeat this cycle! I can't! I won't!

I need your help.

You're all there, lined up like a guard of honour. Lord, Lou must be rolling in his grave, or wherever the fuck I buried him. Or maybe he's just standing there at the front of the queue, rolling his eyes.

On first thought, I thought that this little hackneyed ceremony might be for me.

But it's not.

It's for you.

It's so I can say thank you.

And that I love you.

For I wouldn't be me - this me - without you.

The physical frame you see, darkened at the edges, and under my watchful eye. That's you. I could draw three lines of differing sizes across a page, and that'd be you too.

And when it all turns to fire? That's you.

I use the phrase 'my guy' a fair bit now. That's you.

The way I just start speaking, when I'm usually so quick to set the scene. That's you.

The sagas of myths and Gods that I frame my life within. That's you.

The interconnected lunacy. You.

The number of times I can say 'fuck' in one monologue. You.

The recent aggression, explainable through my usual bullshit, still stems in part from you.

The attempts to link words to actions. That's you.

The lame attempts at socials, before handing it all over. You.

The vague nods to the occult. That's you.

A time travelling magic orb? Definitely you.

The very idea that I could inspire a revolution. The care. The heart. That's you.

This whole gig talking about 'you'. Yup, you guessed it. You.

Shit, "Space Jesus." That wasn't me. That's as you as the broken mug is

I feel like I could go on.

And look… I know I didn't use a name. That was by design. Shocking, right? Gotta keep up appearances! Besides… you know how I get about names. I just needed to say the words, is all. I just needed to let you know that I am just the totality of you. Every one of you.

I'm so thankful that you're here with me in… wherever the fuck this is… so that I may look into each one of your eyes one more time. Like I said, this guard of honour is for you. It may very well be a funeral procession for me.

But as ALIAS grabs ALIAS by the throat, I'm not worried.

Because if I am you, then you are ALIAS too.

Daughters in other worlds.

Universes ablaze.

Visions of what might come to be.

ALIAS.

You.

I look at my own daughter. Of spirit, but not of blood. Neither of us know what will happen next, but we both understand what needs to be done.

It's funny, I would roar about my power, but never wondered why my 'BEST FRIEND' didn't try to reign me in. 'Yeomna' wanted this, and now that the hand of my future counterpart is around my throat, I can see the look that would cross over my own eyes, in his own. That was him, wasn't it? That rising tide. He was seeping through spacetime a little in a way I feel no compulsion to try to explain.

I set out to stop myself becoming that.

I failed.

It seemed fucking obvious I was failing. I just… I just thought that I was different is all.

But the night is not yet over. The dark has not yet subsumed me.

I dangle over the edge.

And then… I do what I was made for.

I fight. I make my own choices.

We battle to the edge. There's only one way that this ends. There’s only one way he ceases from being; only one way that I win!

ALIAS plummets off the edge.

…





































































































































































3D: Phase III






"Word to the wise, don't get this idiot started telling one of his 'stories'." Dr. Pryce stabbed the tip of an expensive-looking pen in my direction. "You hear me, Barrows? Just don't get him started. He spins a fanciful yarn, but he's about as reliable a narrator as an exiled Nigerian prince."

The new orderly frenetically nodded his understanding. Dr. Pryce didn't own the hospital, but he was the chief psychiatrist, and that meant that lowly orderlies had to obey him quick-smart, or else. I often wondered if that's why he always wore the most expensive shoes and watches - polished perfectly and shimmering splendidly. They sold his stature. They commanded the eyes of those who tended to care about such things. I wasn't usually one of those people.

"Oh Christ, he's done it again!" Dr. Pryce saw my 'roommate' Lance convulsing in the corner on his bed. He grabbed an ancient-looking walkie-talkie from his belt and held it up to his mouth. "Code black. I repeat. Code black."

The entire hospital seemed to spring to life at his word. The number of people who rush into Lance and I's tiny little room is maddening. Each of the staff members were nattering about to-and-fro in some sort of cosmic orgy of chaos. It was a veritable nut-house!

But it always has been, hasn't it?

Oh yes, we're all quite mad in here.

How many roommates had they put me with by now? We must be above thirty. Each time, it goes the same way. Them… being carried out in a convulsive fit of insanity. Perfectly made to fit the world which we live in!

I suppose the day will come where they say 'that's enough' in their super-stern voices and with their wagging fingers. And that'll be it for me! They'll lock the door on me for good. No more roommates; no more tales of how I'm really a quasi-mythical being strumming his own rhythm across the cosmos while inexplicably taking time here and there to compete in professional wrestling matches.

But that's incorrect. The tales won't stop, there just won't be anybody left to listen to them.

I'll still have my 'stories'. Everyone will. Because everyone's story exists in here. In my mind.

And I can have them end however I want them to…




A man falls into a worn, leather chair. He places his feet up on the flimsy wooden desk in front of him and thinks to himself, 'I guess I have to start somewhere'.

The man with the feet reaches for the still burning cigarette resting on the edge of a small ceramic ashtray just on the table's edge. He shoves it in his mouth and takes a long, hard drag. A nip of scotch soon warms his belly the same way the nicotine burns its way down his throat.

He's tired. He doesn't remember the last time he slept through the night. But…

But he was alive. And for that, he would be forever grateful. For that, he swore he would do what he could to keep others alive too.

His eyes fell to the door of the ramshackle office he had managed to put together. At any moment, he expected somebody to walk in. He waited and he waited and he waited.

Sure enough, the bells atop the door soon chimed. He beamed at the new figure in the room with a sincere-albeit-crooked smile.

"Welcome to ALIAS Inc."




The carollers were out, braving the snow. How could it not be? It was Christmas!

The man was nervous. Inside his warm mitts his hands were claiming up, and outwardly he began to shuffle awkwardly in place. A gentle hand fell onto his shoulder, and then brushed a stray strand of his shaggy blonde mane behind his ear, taking care to straighten the beanie atop the man's head in the process.

"Relax," his partner said. "Remember, they're the ones who reached out to you. This is going to be amazing."

"Right…" the man said, more to himself than anything. It was enough to pluck up his courage, however. He leaned in and gently kissed his partner on the cheek. "You are the one who is amazing."

"I know." They both chuckled. Footsteps from behind the door to the house - upon whose step they stood - interrupted the moment.

'This is it', the man thought to himself. He had spent so long not knowing who he really was and where he really came from, that he had begun to think this moment may never come. Not that he would have ever admitted to his concerns.

The heavy door opened.

The aged faces on the other side glowed with a warmth that he had never felt before.

He fought back a lump in his throat.

The words came.

"Hi Mom. Hi Dad."




The man fell upon his throne, atop a white tower of glory. This was his kingdom.

"What news today?" he asked of his court.

He received the same answer as he ever had. Otherworld was still safe. The Universe still hummed with the harmony that befell it ever since he overthrew the High Lord and decided to stay here. The flowers began to bloom once more, the skies cleared, and the grotesque abominations that once stalked the lands had begun to revert back to their original forms.

All was well.

Peace reigned.

"Then let us celebrate!"

With a raised mug of ale, he toasted to their great fortune. Former friends and foes alike, even those once dead but now returned to life, all rejoiced with him.

For he was the second coming of 'Space Jesus'.




A ball bounced towards the man down a dusty track. He stopped to scoop it up as the frantic pitter-patter of a young boy, no more than four years old, chased after it.

"Excuse me, Mister, can I please have my ball back?" He spoke with an unfamiliar tongue, but the man seemed to understand it nonetheless.

"Of course," the man said in the same language. He lobbed the ball through the air and the boy let it bounce before catching it. He looked to run off again, but the man's voice called out to him. "Do you mind if I ask what game you're playing?"

The boy looked back at him.

"No game," he shrugged. "Just playing."

"Oh, I see." The innocence in the boy's actions was almost unfamiliar to him. "Could I ask you a favour then?"

The boy was immediately suspicious.

But then… a young girl stepped out from behind the man.

His daughter.

"Could my daughter play with you for a while? We haven't really seen anyone else in weeks at this point, and she could use the run around."

The boy nodded and off they went. Throwing and kicking and chasing and laughing. The man settled on a rock to watch them. He was content. Wherever he was.




I sat in my hospital room as they carried Lance away, and thought of all the possibilities. All the new 'stories' I could tell.

The staff did their best to keep as far away from me as possible.

That was no bother.

All the more time to dream!

Because why couldn't those 'stories' be true? Any of them? All of them?

'It's important to hope,' I thought. ‘That could be me! One day…’

The door to my hospital room shut with force with an odd finality befitting such a strange day.

It rattled the room a bit as I wondered when the sun would rise again.

Knocked my damn mug over even…





~~~


When is a broken coffee mug more than just a broken coffee mug?


~~~


Does that answer your question?











The end.