The Road So Far:

LOL! ALIAS wins!

LOL! ALIAS wins!

LOL! ALIAS wins!

LOL! ALIAS wins!



LOL! ALIAS wins!

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1A: The Champion

“Peter. Vaughn.

This is how it happens, bud. The beginning of the end for you. Time and time again over the past two months you’ve seen first hand how easy it is for me to take The Universe from you and hoist it above my head. In my hands again. Where it belongs. This is the part where I take it once more from you, through force rather than through tricks. And Pete… this time, I never give it back.

It was written in the stars, mon cheri! I’m the one who wrote it there. I put ink to fucking cosmos the moment that you and yours got involved with me and mine. Take The Universe out of the picture, and we were always going to end up in this situation. If Jim Caedus hadn’t turned up bitch and had managed to get past you, you and I would still be doing this. Perhaps not on this stage, but make no mistake about it, I’d be Eating Peter Vaughn. So it is though, that my taste for ol’ Jimbo goes unsated, but you? Well I get to have an extra large plate of Petey Vee, don’t I? Served up on the grandest table that they could find. You’re being fed to me. And you feel it, don’tcha? Denzel Porter might’ve got liquored up and called it in your favour, but last time he placed bets against me he came out wrong and this time will be no different. Because for over a year now, placing bets against me has proven to be a really dumb fucking move, and aside from Denzel, you’re hearing the truth from every other side. Shit, apparently Atara Themis is even splashing it across Twitter, and she would know - she’s tried more than almost anybody. There’s got to be a point in which that all starts weighing on you, right? The expectation of failure can get pretty deflating.

Chill, Pete. I’m not going to pretend that you’re doubting yourself - one of the few things that I almost admire about you is the ethic that you have to try and back up what you say. By hook or by crook, you turn up to fight, and that’s something I can relate to. It’s about the only thing I could pretend to respect about that parasite Page who has attached himself to you as well. So don’t think that I’m trying to position myself as ‘in your head’ or anything, but you damn sure know who I am by now. You know a little about what I am. And you abso-fucking-lutely know what I can do. And that, coupled with the reverence with which my name is spoken? Well… that says something, doesn’t it?

The fates doth conspire against you. And by God that almost makes me want to root for you! I love a good underdog story. Shit, who doesn’t? It’s only now, after conquering the known fucking Universe as I did, that I’m starting to understand that even with everything that I’ve been through in my life, I can’t really claim that label for myself anymore. The one label that I can’t gather! No matter how long that I spent curled up in a ball and rocking in the looney bin, what I’ve made of myself since I broke those chains means there’s only one way that I can now be viewed:

I am ALIAS.

And all that it entails.

That shouldn’t be news to you. Your boy, Xavi’ should’ve prepped you on it. Shit, Page should’ve too. He tried too. And failed. But yet… I’m struck by something that you said to my maybe-friend Andy prior to Warfare. Or, not really to him, I guess, but more reflecting on your position going into that match. You said you felt disrespected here, and that you’re not getting credit for being the Universal Champion. I mean… first of all, how the fuck are you gonna act surprised about that given the way you were given a championship opportunity? Jesus auto-fellating Christ, pal, you didn’t ‘storm’ to the front of the line, like you said you did. You were handed the opportunity by Theo Pryce as part of contract negotiations. I don’t need to stand here and debate the pros and cons of Theo trying to squeeze whatever dollarydoos he could outta OCW while he still could. That’s beside the point. If you Peter, not Theo, but you, wanted any semblance of fucking respect - you wouldv’e handled yourself differently about that whole situation. Does that mean rejecting the golden egg when it’s given to you? No. You should have taken the chance, just like you did. You’d be an idiot not to! But it does mean that everytime you open your little cum-guzzler to bitch and moan about not getting enough respect, you give any of your doubters a cannon full of fucking ammo to jam straight up your booty. Whatever vision that you’re trying to paint for yourself falls a-fucking-part the moment that you open your mouth, and THAT, Petey Vee, is why I said I can ‘almost’ admire you, instead of saying that I do. Because whatever goodwill you try to build for yourself through a little elbow grease and a touch of delusion, you unravel it by being a straight up, damp cunt.

And not the good kind either!

And that leads me into the second reason why you’re feeling like you’re not getting the credit you feel you deserve. It’s real simple, baby, just three words - and you know ‘em already, my man, because I said the fucking thing already!

I.

Am.

ALIAS.

Yes sir-ee, it’s me! The Grand fucking Poobah, Big Daddy A, the Master of both the known AND unknown Universes, Lord High Everything Else… ALIAS!

The man.

Who has come back the fuck around.

I promised I would, didn’t i? I even went as far to leave ol’ Jimbo my favourite Johnny Cash song as a momento the night that the two of you went and fucked up any chance you had to fill even the holes in my Chuck Taylors, let alone wear my goddamn shoes or my motherfucking crown. I said I’d be a’coming, and here I am. Just a man. Standing in front of a meal. And sticking a fucking fork in it.

And there’s a part of all of this that’s natural. It happened to me when I took The Universe away from Chris Page. There were the voices who said that I wasn’t the real champ until I put down the guy who I cashed in on. And I get that you weren’t the one who cashed in on me - not for a lack of trying I might add - but it’s the same principle. Until you can put me down, those voices will continue. It’s nothing personal, more just a reflection of events that happened. But the issue for you is that you can’t put me down, Petey. You’re not going to. Because while a portion of what you’re feeling stems from the way in which The Universe was taken from me, another portion still is born of the here and now.

Who am I, buddy?

You fucking know. It’s those three words again, Pete. They’re gonna be ringing their way around your noggin for quite some time after all of this, which is why this is only going to end with me taking what is mine.

You said that I’ve been practically unbeatable since I respawned. Hate to be the one to break it to you–

That’s a lie. I don’t hate it at all.

–but this has been the way of the world for a hell of a lot longer than these last two months. This is what I do. I stare right down the barrel of any gun pointed in my direction; I lock eyes with the fucking devil himself… and I survive. More than that, I thrive. I conquer. We’re going to be doing our dance at March Madness, and when eyes should be on who will be crowned the next King of the XWF, they’re not. Shit, the field of entry for this year’s tournament was only a quarter of what it was last year. Wanna know why? Because the last King was allegedly one of the toughest sons-of-bitches to ever step foot inside the XWF, and I took him out behind the woodshed and put him in his fucking place. Twice. The crown, like your reign as Universal Champion, means nothing, as long as I exist. And while you’ve been playing grab ass with Tommy Wish, Barney Green, and Centurion - a Legend, sure, but more for being the most famous journeyman in XWF history than anything else; I’ve taken down a legend in my own right in Unknown Soldier. Another one of the supposed greatest to have ever done it. I then took down your buddy, Xavi’. And after that? Charlie Nickles, the current Television Champion and man that you’ve been conveniently avoiding for the past two months. And then there was Mark Flynn. A.K.A., the guy that you couldn’t beat. And yeah, I said ‘couldn’t’.

‘Wah, wah, wah - Apex got involved!’

I mean, if you want to play that game, we can extrapolate it to how that Universal Championship left my possession and that… well that just takes us back to where we should be. To where we will be. With The Universe in my hands again, and you gone the way of the last King.

King-Slayer.

Those eyes that aren’t on the March Madness finals? They’re on us, Peter. But not because of the show that we’re going to put on, or the question around who will come out on top.

Excuses made for that drunk Denzel, of course.

People want to know just how far below me you fucking are. Are we talking a little, like Mark Flynn? A bit, like Charlie Nickles? Or a whole fucking lot, like Xavier Lux?

No matter the answer, I’m still at the top of the fucking food chain. The rest is just a formality. I ain’t Apex, Petey. I’m an Apex fucking Predator.

And I’m going to EAT PETER VAUGHN.”

---

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1B: The Fallen


Last week, there had been a queer sort of energy bristling in the backstreets of Ottawa. It settled across the City of Others that had sprung up upon His arrival, just as had happened in nearly every other city He had visited. The burgeoning tent community paled in comparison to the complex metropoli emerging in cities like Philadelphia and Chicago, each of which He had visited multiple times. Even Portland, Maine was still being powered by the residual impacts of an initial visit over thirteen years prior to His most recent stopover. Ottawa, however, was only just beginning to develop. The structures were flimsy and prone to toppling at the slightest gust of winter's wind, and the infrastructure and services available were still fairly minimal. The community garden had only just been planted and had yet to fully take root against the conditions; healthcare was provided by a recently homeless equine veterinarian; and there was only one generator available to provide power to the settlement. This was insufficient to share across trades and as the price of oil steadily increases across the world, it becomes more and more difficult to run. The other locations had all gone through these growing pains too, but until this one emerged on the other side, the residents were particularly vulnerable. Maybe that's what made the most recent feedings particularly uncomfortable.

Two servings of caution, sauteed with an unhealthy dose of forced reflection and a couple of drops of 'what if?', and then garnished with a general sense of unease. The last couple of meals had been chewier than some prior, but the plate had been cleared nonetheless. Just as He had said it would be. But whatever extrasensory disquiet had shook the foundations of the movement last week, it had now settled into an eerie calm. Gone were the generator's spluttering efforts, and instead it thrummed happily in the corner of the marquee - protected from the elements by blue tarpaulins draping down three of the four sides. Lance felt that this was rather emblematic of the state of the colony. Chaos replaced with order. Uncharacteristically, his BEST FRIEND seemed unable to appreciate the metaphor. He had eaten Mark Flynn, but the true cause of much of His hunger pains was now doing some eating of his own, gnawing away at Him from the inside.

On a makeshift bed of uncoordinated blankets, the body of Corey Smith lies motionless. It's been preserved, though Lance doesn't know how. He's not sure he wants to either. Even without the decay of death, the face of Corey still looks more withered and worn. An extra twenty years or so of wrinkles pinch the corners of his eyes, and a similar twenty years worth of scars mark his face. Lance thinks he understands that part. This is not the current Supercontinental Champion, but rather an older version of him. A future version. A cold shiver runs down his spine.


A part of Lance always believed them of course, but this incontrovertible proof lying before him stuns him a little. His faith in his BEST FRIEND has been reinforced.

From the signs of damage on Corey's face and body, Lance can tell that whatever future Corey had experienced, it hadn't been easy. And in the end, it had cost him his life.

"Here's what I don't understand…" Lance begins. His BEST FRIEND doesn't turn from where He kneels on the rough concrete next to Corey’s body, head bowed. "…This was Mark Flynn's fault, right? Or at least a future version of him, it would seem. Based on the timing of the Universe delivering Corey to us, err… you… like this, I would have surmised that the point of divergence leading to this outcome would have been your battle against Flynn this past Savage. But by vanquishing him, as you did, the reality which led to Corey’s fate here should have been eliminated."

Silence replies, but a shift in his BEST FRIEND's posture tells Lance that He was listening.


It also tells Lance that He wants to hear more.

"Given Corey - this Corey - is still here, and still… well… you know…" He does indeed know. "There are only two possibilities I can think of. One: Mark Flynn overcoming you was not the cause of this reality coming into existence. Or two: the multiverse exists independent of our choices here and your defeat of Flynn merely means that this is not the stream that our tangible selves are currently sailing down–"

"It's the latter." With an abrupt force, ALIAS makes his decision. "Future Flynn killed Future Corey. Present Flynn Ate This Hand. The timing is too perfect."

"So instead you've prevented that becoming our reality, but it still exists for those like this version of Corey." Lance mulls this over for a moment. "That fits. Given we saw an RL Edgar whose trip to the future resulted in Betsy Granger's death; an Andrew Logan ruling the world on behalf of the Left Hand; and a Ned Kaye who is an evil scientist; it makes sense that those worlds all simultaneously exist alongside our own. Not to mention Flynn and the North Korean War Criminal's encounters with individuals from that same evil Ned's world too. It all ties nicely together."

"But…"

Lance's eyes narrow

"I wasn't going to say 'but'," he says.

"But there is a 'but'," his BEST FRIEND insists and Lance can hear that a revelation has dawned within that transcendent mind.

"There is?"

While still looking down at Corey’s body, the World-Eater pushes to His feet. His hand stretches out to the side offering a small object to Lance, which Lance is compelled to take.

"What is this?" Lance asks, turning the small stone over in his hand and struggling to comprehend what he's seeing. The stone itself has a periwinkle undertone but somehow appears to be glowing a shade of… black? "I've never seen anything like it before."

"I have," ALIAS motions for the stone and Lance deposits it in His hand. "It's similar to the orb that Betsy gave RL to help summon her so that he could travel through time like he did. Similar to the one I was given as well, which wound up being one of the artifacts that helped me find the answers I was looking for last year."

"Was Corey given one too?" Lance asks.

"I think so," He replies. "But I don’t think this is it. It seems to work differently. It doesn't just reach through time and space…"

Eye contact. The blue within shifts to a vibrant radiance that swallows Lance within them.

"I think this can transport us through, without needing anybody else’s help."

"You mean–" Lance tries to follow up. He isn't given the chance.

"The Universe brought this Corey to us," his BEST FRIEND explains. "Even if I prevented our world going down the path that his did - even if there's nothing I can do to keep that world from existence - The Universe still delivered us this moment. And what do we do when The Universe speaks to us, bud?"

"We listen." Both men nod, understanding what's required.

"And we follow."

The calm of the city-within-a-city returns, and, holding eye contact but looking through each other rather than at, the two quietly think on their circumstances.

"Have the body cremated," the Master of the Universe suggests. "But make sure it's respectful."

"You don't want to be there?" Lance wonders.

"That's not our Corey," ALIAS says. "And I need to know why he was here."

Clutching the stone in his hand, ripples of an otherworldly, white energy quake within the tent. Lance takes a couple of steps back, conscious of the growing area in which the bursts start to tear through the world. As they begin to link up, cutting greater and greater gashes in the make-up of existence, Lance worries that Corey’s body will be swept up in the pull of the portal that begins to form. The corpse doesn't budge, however. His BEST FRIEND seems to know, almost instinctively, how to control the budding forces. Lance gasps as a wormhole THWWWPPSinto existence around his Space-Jesus.

"Hey, how did you know all that stuff about the multiverse?" the Messiah man asks. It catches Lance off guard a little.

"I uh… I like sci-fi," he stammers.

"Oh yeah? Star Wars or Star Trek?" 'This is a totally normal question that BEST FRIENDS would ask, Lance tells himself. It doesn’t have anything to do with the multiverse, because they’re being perfectly ordinary!

"Battlestar Galactica," he responds honestly, just as BEST FRIENDS would do.

"You fucking nerd." That crooked smile beams at Lance before it steps across the boundary between worlds. Again the words 'BEST FRIEND' come into his mind, as he tells himself casual insults are a part of that sort of relationship. But as he looks down to where the deceased, thirty or forty-odd year-old body of an old Corey Smith lies, a different two words creep in.

The movement.

He steels himself.

"For the movement."

---

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1C: The Wanted


The tight, grime-covered walls and splotchy combination of pavement, puddles, and dust make the Other Side feel familiar. 'An alleyway is an alleyway,' the visitor supposes, as the swirling vortex of blinding light POPS closes behind him. The suctioning force of the wormhole zipping shut isn’t enough to budge his feet, but it does tug his hair back a little, making it splay in the wind like a model in slow motion. 'What an entrance,' he muses again, somewhat disappointed nobody was there to share in the silly juxtaposition. A rat comments 'SQUEAK!' from amongst a gathering of its peers, which at least gave the intrepid traveller some form of an audience. He gives the little guy a wink as a thank you, and curtsies accordingly. The mischief then disbands, spreading to all corners of the crumbling backstreet and leaving the man alone in his kingdom.

He sets off.

Without much clue as to where he is going, his feet carry him from one laneway to the next. And the next. And the next. Around every corner that he rounds, the streets look more or less the same: littered with rubble; pocked with potholes; and any available wallspace coated in layers upon layers of competing graffiti. He had come from an emerging city-within-a-city, but this wasn't even a city. It was a ruin.

Taped to a metal street lamp that he would have expected to have switched on by now in the face of the evening's dimming light, a white piece of paper rustles in a gentle, passing breeze. It draws his attention, and he uses a conveniently placed plank of wood as a bridge to cross a particularly wide accumulation of water and investigate further. Bold black letters dominate the top of the piece of paper.


WANTED
DEAD OR ALIVE


Typical wanted poster fare, really.

But it’s the picture below the words that draw his attention.

His own.





He takes a second to process this, but doesn't need two. The poster is torn from the wall and then shredded into several smaller pieces that he casually lets fall onto the drenched ground. It's just one poster - no doubt there would be more. He's aware of this. Hell, he could see a second flapping only a hundred yards or so in the distance. There was something cathartic about the exercise nonetheless.

Under his worn and torn sneakers he crushes an errand strip of the torn poster lucky enough to not fall directly into the water. With still no other guidance to go on, he sets off in the direction of the other visible poster, noticing several more dotted about in the distance. A sizable tagging jumps out at him as he passes by, painted on the remains of an unstable looking brick wall that used to be attached to a larger building. In thick, white paint, one word was scrawled on the mortar:


EXILES


Unconsciously, he clenches his gloved, right fist after reading it. He had gotten his hand on Xavier Lux, but as of yet the others had escaped his grasp. Some, it seems, having since abandoned their post, may have escaped his wrath permanently. But with Peter Vaughn now within his reach, he bridles at the thought of Vaughn having played a role in the death of this world's Corey Smith. As if he needed any more reason to eat the sumbitch. To top it off, despite there being no love lost between Vaughn and Mark Flynn, with the CCP Enterprises connection it was easy to draw a line between the two. That just raised more questions than answers. All he does know is that Corey came specifically looking for Him, and those eyes he saw beyond the veil definitely belonged to Mark Flynn plus twenty or so years.


BANG!

A loud sound shoots around the wreckage of the city and he snaps his head in its direction like a meerkat conscious of danger. The circumstances of this incident throw him back to the investigation into the portals a week ago - that which led him to Corey. Remembering RL Edgar having jabbed him in the face as a friendly 'hello', he proceeds with an extra dose of caution. He follows the source of the noise through a side-street (shockingly), until the sound itself had long since faded and he was left to his instincts again.

They proved fruitful.

In a pile of trash strewn across the ground - not trash bags, just trash - a body lies motionless. That extra degree of care kicks into overdrive as he approaches. He clocks the torn black slacks first, and then tracks his way up to the grubby, untucked shirt. The face is hidden, however. Buried in the garbage. It wouldn't be a surprise if this was a trap, but ALIAS believed with every fibre of his body that he was here for a reason. Without any other direction to go in, he reaches down to the body and flips it over.

"Fuck," he mumbles, aloud.

The cold, dead face of Mark Flynn stares back at him. Even colder and deader than usual, that is. Crouching beside Mark's body, he checks for a pulse. It's a formality, really. Like Corey Smith before him, Mark Flynn is dead.

"Fuck," he says again, more vocal than the prior expletive. This was whom he had come here looking for. He wasn’t exactly sure how long had passed in this world between when Corey had fallen and this moment, but the age of Mark Flynn's face suggests it's about the same era. That at least confirms that he used the goofy portal orb correctly. But it doesn't give him anything further to go on.

He should have known better to question The Universe's intention.

A blur whizzes by him. A WHOOSHing sound follows just as soon as his vision clears up. When the sound then calms, the blur speeds back in another direction. Once more a WHOOSH follows at a similar length of time, giving the man an idea. He waits, timing out a couple more run throughs before shooting an arm out just as the blur returns, and snatching a human body out of the air.

"Wait…" he pauses. The face staring back at him hasn’t quite come back into focus - still moving at a hyper speed, but he feels something familiar about it.

WHACK!

A clubbing blow connects with his side and he flies several feet through the air, landing in a bed of mud. He groans as he struggles back to his feet, wiping the muck from his face with a whatever clear patch remained of his trademark cardigan. Rather than clean his cheeks, he succeeds only in smearing the mud, but it’s the best he can hope for in this situation.

Standing in the alley, backlit by the remaining red glow of the nearly set sun, two figures square up against him.

"Soldy?" the muddied man asks, scarcely believing his eyes. "And Ruby?!"

He had no real relationship one way or another with the Banana Lime Blur, and aside from managing to vanquish the Unknown Soldier in both men's 2022 returns, he didn’t know too much about him either. Even so, he absolutely did not expect these two to be standing, side-by-side as they are, even twenty years in the future.

Ruby’s face showed a little of the added years. Soldier's, meanwhile, was painted up as it ever was.

"Which one of you hit me?" ALIAS further asks, clutching at the point of contact. "That felt like a goddamn truck."

"I got stronger," Unknown Soldier says.

"Oh great, a super-strong Satan worshipper," he snarks. "That's always fun. And I suppose you're the blur then, Rubes? Bit on the nose don't you think? Still… superpowers are in this world? That's pretty awesome. I don't suppose Mark here can come back to life or something? It'd be super great if I could ask him some questions."

"Fuck…" Soldier says, an echo of the man standing opposite him. Ruby leaves her partner's side and scrambles - at regular speed - to Flynn's side.

"He's not breathing," she panics, quickly - this time at super speed again - trying to think of a plan. Nothing comes to mind.

"He's gone," Soldier tells her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The softness in the gesture arc's the War-Winner's brow. “We’re too late.”

"You guys were with him?" he asks. "I get it on your end, Soldy, but I didn't take you to be the type to be cavorting with murderers like these two, Rubes."

"Mark wasn't a murderer, my guy," Ruby says, without the usual pep in her step.

"But… Corey…"

"Corey and Mark were both with us." She pushes to her feet and delicately traces her fingers over Soldier's hand, still resting on her. ALIAS shudders. "We've been trying to find you."

"It sure looks like you have," the Soldier-Butcher says. "I saw the 'Wanted' posters."

"Those aren't ours. You’re a popular guy. We’re not the only ones trying to track you down." Her eyes glance back down to where Mark's body lays. "Let’s just hope you're worth all the sacrifice, my dude."

"How do I know you're not full of shit?" She turns to look him dead in the eye.

"Because we only want you Alive."

He can see in her eyes that she's telling the truth. He can also see all of her pain. Ruby is different in this world, and not just with respect to her apparent superhuman abilities.

"Look after Mark's body, Dante," she tells Soldier. "And be safe about it. I'll take our guest here to the others."

Unknown Soldier nods and the two share a lingering glance.

"Hail ALIAS," Soldier says, and the man in question is sure that there isn't a hint of sarcasm in it. Another shudder.

"Yeah…" Ruby kind of agrees. “Hail flippin’ ALIAS.

Without even beckoning the World-Eater to come, Ruby heads off down the laneway. It takes a few seconds for her new companion to get moving, but he eventually trots after her, leaving Soldier behind to care for the dead. That would typically be cause for concern, but like the Banana-Lime Blur, the Demon-Dicked Defiler seemed different too. A lot less, well… demon-dicked.

"Corey’s body is still in our world," the man of the moment says, falling into lockstep with the jaded superhero. "His funeral will be respectful, I can promise that."

Ruby doesn't reply, but he can tell from her body language that she heard him. He doesn’t think it wise to push the issue further, so the two silently walk the streets of this fallen city to a destination that only she knows. It's not too far. He hears a boot scuff before they turn into the clearing, and there in the middle of a small plaza whose lone central tree had long since died, three figures turned rifles towards them.

Ruby doesn't react.

One of the others does.

"Comrade ALIAS!" the North Korean War Criminal beams. He noticeably ponders something in his head, before making a decision to rush forward and give his old friend the most uncomfortable hug in history, complete with the butt of a rifle jamming up into both of their faces. "It is very good that we have located you. I, of course, always knew that we would."

"NK…" the unwilling recipient struggles to get free. "You… you look the same. How the hell do you look the same when everyone else is so much older?"

"Ah, yes!" NK jabs a finger into the air in a facsimile of what a cartoon character may do when they launch into an explanation. Unsurprisingly, he then launches into an explanation. "It is very nice of you to have noticed my superior complexion. Every day, I am fortunate to thank you, Dear Leader, for the added strength and vitality you provided to the already strong and… er… vital… Korean people when you successfully united our peninsula as the duly elected leader of a Unified Korea."

"Come again?"

"Ah, yes!" NK thrusts his finger into the air again, ready to repeat the exact same statement. "It is very nice of y–"

"He's not your ALIAS, NK," an unfamiliar young man, at least fifteen to twenty years everyone else's junior, interjects from further back. "Or… our ALIAS I guess. He doesn't know what you’re talking about."

"I think you vastly underestimate the wealth of knowledge at Comrade ALIAS's disposal, Francis Duke!" He slaps his old pal from the past on the back to show his support, but that's not what captures the newcomer's attention.

"Francis?!" he gasps. "As in little Frankie, is that really you?"

"Not so little anymore." Frankie flashes a grin that carries all of the charm of his adopted father Thad, but none of the arrogance. With his own weapon lowered, Frankie approaches with an extended hand. The King-Slayer readily shakes it.

"I can't believe how much you've grown," he tells Frankie, having pulled from a basket of tropes. "I think the last time I saw you in the flesh was on The Moon, I think. That must have been almost a year ago now."

"Try nineteen years," Frankie corrects him. "It's good to have you with us. I'll always remember how you, or our you, saved my father at the–"

"Where is Mark Flynn?" the North Korean War Criminal interrupts. Unknown Soldier settles against the burned out husk of an old Combee. Ruby lowers her head.

"He didn't make it." It hits the clearing like a bomb. Based on Soldier's return, ALIAS can surmise that there hadn't been much time for a burial, but the hardest part to grapple with was the way NK reacted. Real, honest-to-God tears dripped down his face. It was just one from each eye, and there was no audible sobbing or crying to accompany it, but this was true, human emotion that the War Criminal was feeling, and it was terrifying.

"On the ready, soldier," the third figure, having lingered in the background since their arrival into the clearing, commands. It was a female's voice, but one that The Label-Gatherer couldn't quite place. She was clad head-to-toe in black kevlar, complete with a haunting, faceless white mask. The rifle remained in her hand, and what appeared to be katanas or some other, similar sword were sheathed on her back. "We'll honour Sergeant Flynn as he deserves when we get to base, just as we did Major Smith, but we've got the payload, and now we need to get out of here and get him back to The Witness."

"Yes, ma'am!" NK shouts, regaining his composure.

"Who is that?" ALIAS asks Frankie, motioning to the mysterious, masked woman, and trying to keep his voice down.

"We call her The North Korean War Queen," Frankie replies, as if that means something.

"North Korea has a queen?" He thinks back to the ramblings of the War Criminal. "I thought NK said Korea was unified now? Why did you still call her, and him 'NK'?"

"Habit, I guess," Frankie shrugs.

"Hang on a minute!" He breaks into a sort of hushed yell as more dominoes fall into place. "Isn't Future Me supposed to rule Korea?! Does that mean that she's my… my wife?"

"None of us know who she is, aside from being a stone cold killer," Frankie answers again. "I mean, maybe NK actually does know. Or The Witness. But he–"

"EXILES!" the War Queen bellows. "On me!"

With her gun pointed in front of her, she leads the way through what remains of the city. Everyone falls into a single line behind her, including the new recruit, who is still trying to figure out what is going on. He's being taken to someone called The Witness - a moniker he recalls Shawn Warstein having used previously. That's not all that puzzles him, though.

"Wait, you guys are The Exiles?" he whispers, but doesn't receive a reply.

---

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1D: The Witness


The back of the truck was completely encased. Like a locked box. Unknown Soldier and Ruby were riding up front, no doubt a strategic move given their seemingly enhanced abilities. The rest - the time-displaced wanted man; NK; Frankie; and the masked woman calling herself the North Korean War Queen - all take refuge in the back. They had made it to the transport unmolested, and an hour or so in the back of the truck had similarly passed without incident. Even as the vehicle putters to a halt, and one of the duo up front knocks on the wall between the cabin and the trailer to let the group know that they had arrived at their destination, the tension hanging over them remains. No doubt the loss of Mark Flynn, so soon after also losing Corey Smith contributed.

They file out of the back of the truck, emerging outside of an old, abandoned warehouse. In the dark of the night, the mud squelches under their feet. That was the only sound. Other than the moon and stars above, there was no light either. Still, the residents of this world know exactly where they were. Frankie and NK help Soldier and Ruby pull a tattered cover over the truck, either to hide it or to at the very least make it look like the truck had been there a while. They then fall in with the War Queen again, as she enters the neglected building.

Unknown Soldier holds the rear, making sure everyone - including ALIAS - is inside, before he gently shuts the door. With just the holes in the shattered windows for the light to creep through, the world on the inside was even darker. Travelling more on sound than anything else, they follow their dear leader into the bowels of the building. Up ahead, the sound of something being opened up disturbs the quiet. When the procession begins to move once more, a staircase, leading down into the earth, almost trips the outsider up. He steadies himself, and whatever it was that opened, closes behind him.

Only a few moments after silence takes control over the stairwell (save for the echoing of descending footsteps), a hum and a buzz foreshadow a series of lights flickering to life. It renders the sterile pathway a lot easier to navigate, and so, the group continues down and through a final door.

"A city-within-a-city," the man from the past remarks, half in jest and half as a way to join the dots between this world and his own.

They step out into a massive, artificial cavern. A series of tents and homemade structures link together in a complex network. Buildings-within-a-building.

Space Jesus can't help but notice the staring faces following the group as they walk past. A game of telephone breaks out amongst the people. From ear to ear the message is passed, and when the whispered boomerang returns to the progenitor, it hasn't changed one bit.

Their dirty faces are looking at Him. He knows.

He has returned.

Ushered through the village, the tail ends of the group begin to break away. First, Ruby and Unknown Soldier, departing hand-in-hand. Then, the North Korean War Criminal, who just kind of vanished. Frankie Duke had the courtesy to nod in ALIAS's direction before he left. One part 'goodbye', and one part 'good luck'. It left just the two enigmas remaining to enter a room on the far side of the space - not a tent or patched together shelter, but a room.

"Report?" asks a figure, clothed in a comparable way to the North Korean War Queen. Not an inch of skin can be seen underneath the layers of black. And the mask…





It is the same as The Witness he remembered. The distorted voice doesn't give any further information, just as it never did when Shawn Warstein donned the outfit. As far as he knew, it could be Shawn, or it could be an anthropomorphic fucking rat.

A third enigma. A third question.

Either way, The Witness's head was facing in the War Queen's direction and waiting for an answer.

"Target acquired," she gestures to where the guest stands.

"And the squad?" they ask, not paying any attention to the man whom the War Queen had motioned towards.

"One casualty, zero other injuries," she says, alarmingly (from the Legend-Breaker's point of view) matter-of-fact. "Sergeant Flynn."

"The body?" The Witness continues.

"Taken care of," the War Queen replies. This seems to satisfy The Witness.

"Thank you." Though it is only two words, they convey so much more. A sign of formal gratitude, sure, but also an encouragement to pass on the gratitude to the team. To check in on them as well. And of course, to leave.

The North Korean War Queen dips her head slightly, and slips out of the room.

Three becomes two.

"I'm sorry for your loss," The Path-Finder says. He looks to read the masked man’s body language, and he had with Ruby’s earlier, but it doesn’t shift.

"Sergeant Flynn died for you to be here," The Witness replies, barely registering the condolences. "He died well, and I have no doubt that he knew his sacrifice would not be in vain."

ALIAS tries to bite his tongue. A tiny, garbled sound escapes from his throat. The Witness notices.

"You have questions," The Witness acknowledges. "Ask them."

A deep inhale opens the floodgates.

"Who killed Flynn? Shit, who killed Corey? Why did he come to me? Why am I here? Why does Ruby have super speed? Why does Soldy have super strength? Why are they now a part of the Exiles? Are you? Does that make you Peter Vaughn? Just who are you? What's with the gimp suit? Are we about to fuck? Where is this world's version of me? That chick who brought me in, with the matching leather suit… is she my wife? Did we fuck? Was it from the front or the back? Was Corey jealous? Why is he dead?! WHY IS HE DEAD?! What the fuck is going in here?!"

When it rains it pours. The series of questions were delivered in just one breath, and the World-Eater stops to draw more air into his lungs. The Witness pauses to consider their response. With a slow, deliberate, generic movement, they rise from his chair. Clasping their hands behind his back, they begin to casually - almost nonchalantly even - pace the room.

"I am afraid I do not have all of the answers to your questions," they say through their voice modifier. "But I will tell you what I can. It started at some point in what would be your near future. The world as we all knew it will end. War will decimate the entire planet."

"This whole Russia-Ukraine situation fucks us all, eh?" the man from the past asks.

"No," The Witness says. "It was not that. Nobody knows exactly what the cause was, but in one moment, every rocket, missile, or bomb on the face of this planet was launched at once. There was no plan behind it. Russian bombs fell on China; Ukraine sent missiles into Germany; the United States fired at the United Kingdom; India at Australia. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it all. Yet… one pattern did emerge. Maximum damage. The warheads were spaced in such a way to produce the maximum total harm to human civilisation, regardless of whose missiles were fired or whom they were targeted at. It was like the planet was correcting itself, and seeking to eliminate us. So very few survived."

"How did you, then?" asks the listener. "Survive, that is?"

"Some of us through dumb luck. Some through cowering underground. The XWF was relatively immune from the effects of the bombs dropping. It turns out that the drones Vinnie Lane had following its competitors around were equipped with the same technology that prevents the use of magic powers and the like on the shows, however they are programmed to only activate under dire circumstances. The bombs activated this mechanism, and somehow, protected everyone from the damage."

"So the bombs were magic?" The God-Killer wonders.

"We do not know, but what followed may have been." The Witness stops their pacing, and were their eyes visible behind their near-mechanical mask, they would look as if they were staring off into space. "An insurrection occurred. Creatures of an unknown origin overran the planet, allegedly at the invitation of someone from our world."

"Who?"

"I do not know. But, I was there when they tried to stop him." The Witness ignores the question. "I never saw the High Lord, but I saw what he could do. With so many trained and experienced combatants, the XWF mobilised as a resistance force. When they attempted to overthrow the evil that had conquered the land, they sent their best. Vinnie Lane died that day. As did Theo Pryce, Doctor Louis D'Ville, and Gator. They were massacred, and their bodies were drawn and quartered, with each piece hoisted up on a flagpole for all to see. Acting as their back-up, I was the first to see what had happened. The rebellion had failed, and those who remained were forced to choose a side. Many submitted to the new world order. Others, like us, went underground and continued our resistance. And we were galvanised… by you. This… this is the movement. Your movement."

The visitor's eyes narrow. Pondering his next move, it's his turn to stare into space. He then decides to test The Witness's words for himself. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out a cigarette and slides it into his mouth.

"Do you have a light?" he asks. As soon as the words were uttered, The Witness had a blowtorch at the ready. ALIAS ignites the cigarette upon it and takes a couple of reassured puffs. "So where am I then? Future me, I mean."

"Gone."

"Gone how?" he presses further. "Dead?"

"Unlikely," The Witness answers. "You are public enemy number one to the High Lord. Those Wanted posters would not be as prevalent as they are if you had expired. Other than that, however, I do not know. You will be killed if you are found, however. No matter which version of you they find. That much I can be sure of. The High Lord’s forces have been hunting us for years now. Centurion was slaughtered like a lamb, right in front of Ruby. Thaddeus Duke was with us too, years ago now. He was one of your most vocal supporters. He was surrounded on a mission with Captain Smith and Dolly Waters. They took his head off right there on the spot. Dolly was never the same again. She left over ten years ago, and was never seen again."

"What about the Exiles?" he asks, seeking more wonderful, world-building exposition.

"A fitting name. It is what we are," The Witness states. "Exiles from the world above."

"No, I’m talking about Peter Vaughn, Xavier Lux, and co."

The world returns to silence.

"Who?"

---

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1E: The Mission

“You know, every time that I do this thing, I find myself falling back into one particular pattern. It’s like I almost have to help people even try to leave a fucking mark on my face, because if they’re left to their own devices, they crash and fucking burn. It’s gotten to the point that now it’s like that whole process has actually become part of the entertainment in all of this. At least on my end.

Dinner and a show!

I can hand someone the book that they need, with a nice little doggy ear already folded over on the page that the information they’re looking for is on, and they keep finding novel ways to miss the mark entirely.

Some of them throw the book in the trash.

Hi, Lou!

Sorry for smacking you around so much you decided you’re better off retiring.

Some of them just never learned how to read.

Looking at you, Charlie!

And others insist on reading the damn thing upside down.

Marky-Mark, you’re up to bat!

I want to talk to you a little more about Mark Flynn, Petey, and I think it’s pretty obvious why. I can do the na-na-na-na-na routine if you’d like, but putting it simply: I beat him, and you didn’t. So what happened? Well, Mark thought he had me figured out. He thought I wasn’t focused. What a goof, amirite? It’s like… has he never met me before? The rationale the silly goose gave was that I had been spending time throwing really mild insults in his direction instead of solely telling Charlie Nickles how much of a piece of shit he is, as if somehow Charlie didn’t already know! But Mark missed the boat by a long shot on that front, and this… this is what you need to be aware of, Peter. I’ve been taking digs at Thaddeus Duke for fifteen fucking months, and has that ever impacted on my focus?

No.

I can throw down against the Epitome of Evil, Unknown Soldier, while still telling you Peter that I’m going to literally penetrate your gullet with a part of my body.

Nothing sexual!

Did that affect my focus either?

No.

I could sit here and rattle off my thoughts on every motherfucker that is currently fighting or has ever fought on the XWF’s television shows…

Fuck a Steve Jason!

John Madison’s a bitch!

The Brand fears ALIAS!

HA!

I wonder if anyone will get the joke in that last one…

Shit, I could sit here and spend the next whole hour telling Corey Smith to get his fucking head in the game so we can do this thing before it’s too late.

Facts, Cor’-Bear.

This is my fucking world, and to focus on anything happening in it is to focus on you. Understand this, Pete. Jot this shit down, and don’t miss the mark like everyone before you. The one thing that drives me more than anything else is understanding the ‘why’ about my fight. And that involves understanding just where in the world I am. I hope Mark knows that now, and I hope you do too, Petey, because in the interest of giving you the same helping hand that I’ve given the oh so many who have come before you, I want you to know why I need to beat you.

See, I don’t actually think that I’m unbeatable. It’s happened before, and yes, it’ll happen again. Maybe I should have Lance actually keep track of that record of mine but I don’t hide where I’ve fallen before. I do, however, go to great extent to understand where I went wrong and with the exception of Caedus’s cash in which involved no less than a werewolf, an army of zombies, two factions, the cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and an actual white whale, the thing that has happened in each of the other failings was that I had lost sight of my mission. I haven’t done that this time, Peter. You’ll notice that I’ve barely even gone in on you for your role in costing me the Universal Championship. I promised you I’d kick you in the balls over it - which I will - but I’m not exactly going hard on your specific actions, you know? Now, rest a-fucking-ssured, if you try to whiteout that shit, I’mma make a song and dance about shoving it so down your throat that people like Lou, Lycana, and Dipshit Page himself would each throw another hissy fit about how I can only get by on trying to catch people out on their contradictions. But Pete, the reason I need to beat you isn’t to avenge what you did that night. That’s just an added bit of fun, to be honest. The reason is in The Universe itself. Not you.

It’s about my place in it.

For six months last year, it belonged to me. For six months, I used to understand who I was; to answer the questions about myself that had been deliberately obscured from me.

I did that.

I know who I am.

And I know what I need to do.

I don’t need to know what an Ascent to Madness match is.

We’re all quite mad here.

I just know that I need to fucking win it. And if you want to box with God Space Jesus, then you’re going to want to go ahead and focus all of your attention on my motivations here.

With the Universal Championship in my hands, I can bring light to the down-trodden. I can walk amongst the backstreets and light a fire under the meek and the powerless.

I can change the fucking world.

This is full circle for me! This is the reason that I gave for wanting The Universe when I first came back here all the way back at High Stakes in 2020. I failed then because I didn’t truly know who I am. I didn’t know my name.

But I do now!

I am ALIAS.

And so now I can do what I first set out to do! It’s why I’m here! It’s why I breathe. Petey… this is why I burn. I think there’s something in there for you to sink your teeth into, buddy. Just as I tried to find something to relate to in you, I think there’s something in that for you to relate to me.

You’ve got your own people that you’re looking out for don’t you? Your own people that you’re trying to protect.

How is Aimi doing?

Don’t you worry your little cotton socks off, Pete! I am vehemently against making any threats to do her harm, short of maybe asking Lance to egg Da Bing Bong Twinz on about her. If you need any reassurances about my intentions here, Pete, just look at the fact that even Thad was comfortable with me being around his son when Daddy Thaddy wasn’t around, and that’s with all of our animosity in place. Aimi is in no danger from me. If anything, I’d view her as one of my people too. But to understand what my motivation is here, I’d say that you can go ahead and multiply whatever vague obligation you feel towards her by about seven billion and you’d understand the sheer force of will that I’m hurtling towards you with.

This is happening, Peter.

The man isn’t just coming back around. He’s fucking here.

And uh… just as a piece of advice. if you’re that interested in protecting Aimi, maybe get her ass off social media. Trust me, man. I have a bit of prior experience looking after young, Asian women.”

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1F: The Reason


"So what do you need from me?" The Bastard-Tamer asks The Witness.

"Our version of you has been M.I.A. for too long," the masked figure replies. "We need you to take his place. We need you to lead another rebellion. And this time… we need it to be successful. All of our lives depend on it."


BOOOOOOOM!!!


An explosion rocks the room. More follow. Then the screaming starts.

"We're under attack!" The voice of Frankie Duke shouts above the chaos. The two mysteries in the side room sprint out into the cavern-city. Smoke chokes the air from the room, as they try to push through it. It rapidly grows denser, and even though they are only a few feet away from each other, a hazy wall descends, completely blocking their vision.

"Witness!" ALIAS shouts, but no clear reply can be heard over the cacophony of terror.

A sudden WHACK! ends all hope of hearing anything other than an off-key tone ringing deep inside his ear channels, until even that fades to black…