Captain Marvel (Collected)

Captain Marvel
#2: Transfigured on a Mount




Carol’s world was on fire. Carol was the fire.

Carol propelled herself forward, the Sentry, once her proudest accomplishment, was now her quarry. Its crude and fearsome change directly preceding her own greater and more shining transformation.

With a strangled roar the monstrosity reached for her but she was faster. She ducked under and in the same swift motion her palm landed on the Sentry’s “chest”, if one were to apply human anatomy terms to what had once been a simple machine. A mental conundrum that may have confounded Carol had she had the time to ponder it.

Instead she pulled back, making a fist and has her hand clenched: a flash of golden light burst forth.

The ‘man in purple’ for his part stood near motionless, yet seemingly all around them… just in the corner of her eye wherever she turned. Smiling a crooked smile.

Carol tried to ignore him.

She focused on the Sentry: madly flailing, only focused on her in the sense that she was the closest person to it at this moment, it seemingly would’ve been happy to rip apart anyone available. Save for that very same man in purple, who seemed immune and amused.

“How dynamic.” He muttered as Carol’s fist connected with the Sentry’s metal hide releasing yet another brilliant flash of energy. He spoke barely above a whisper yet she heard him perfectly over the clashing sounds of the battle.

Her fists found their way up Sentry’s chest as she aimed for its head. Thunder marking each hit.

The aura of fear it emanated waned with each blow but coming back as quickly each time he recovered.

The gritted teeth of the ignorant as they watched the progress of technology, the noisy intrusive thoughts of the paranoid as they bemoaned advances in the information age, the rage of the disenfranchised as money is funneled into the sky as their lives break apart… they washed around Carol, never touching her but she felt it as they washed over the crowd around them.

And now that the Sentry had transformed to reflect these fears: shredded rows of metal reforged into a monstrous robotic nightmare… the horror was far more than borrowed.

The “creature’s” face was perhaps the worst of it. Almost humanoid, but its mouth was obscured by a bar of metal like a gag, made to look like a row of clenched fangs… a gurgling noise fighting its way from behind it. The truly disturbing aspect was as it went further up; where its face formed an almost insect-like visage… especially its eyes.

It produced, unbidden, in Carol’s mind the memory of one of her brother’s friends torturing a praying mantis when they were kids. The way its eyes looked as it slowly died before she was able to step in and make him stop, mercifully smashing the bug to its death with the heel of her sneaker.

It was that second half the memory she channeled. She saw the look of anger on her brother’s face both at his friend and at her for “embarrassing him”, she thought of how she hadn’t cared how “uncool” she was or what his friends thought. She thought about that gut instinct that had always been in her: what is right, what is wrong. It had always served her whenever she listened to it.

“This,” The man is purple hummed his face suddenly in her line of sight but somehow not obscuring the Sentry’s own, “Is what writers refer to as “the call to action”.” He laughed a pompous, knowing laugh.

Carol ignored him, he was as those same kids had been. Stupid and choking on their own stupidity by the moment, their laughing a symptom of this decline not a sign of some victory they had achieved. She was beyond that now.

There was no doubt, no storm of confusion. Even in the very midst of the strangest thing that had ever happened to her, even as she became “something else”, she knew who she was and what she had to do with a passion the likes she’d never experienced before.

And with one great blow to the Sentry’s malformed face, the proverbial sneaker came down and the twisted pitiable creature lashing out in its torment was crushed under the weight of her decisive and quite final action.

For a moment she watched as the Sentry crumpled, as if in slow motion. The same fire burning in her veins even in inaction. Her heart was beating in her chest, faster and faster but surprisingly it wasn’t scary, a part of her wanted to give into the fearsome beat and let herself be consumed, a manic feeling that seemed to match the gleam in the eyes of the enigmatic man in purple. She met his eyes and he waved at her casually as he faded away right before her eyes, like a mirage. What now? Give into the fire and never stop? It was tempting, too tempting, but with a soft exhale she closed her eyes and “let go”.

In an instant the world changed back, as if waking from a dream and she was once more just Major Carol Danvers standing aside of the wreckage of her beloved Sentry, her gun still in her hand.

Reality fell around her like a blanket. The sun was setting, clouds rolling in… the light fading from the scene as the press and security swarmed in around her, passed her… to take pictures of what was left of the Sentry. She felt some loss of recognition as her men asked her if she was okay but not in the way she was expecting… she couldn’t explain it. Why weren’t they questioning the way she changed? The feats she had performed?

She shook the confusion off and did what she did best: she got to work.

“Get the press back!” She shouted pointing at the mob of flashing cameras, “Reinmann! I want the scrapheap quarantined.” She gestured to what was left of the Sentry, “Get the lab guys down here. Conway I want a DEO consult yesterday! You men,” She hollered at the soldiers herding the media, “I want copies of all the footage they got ASAP. Come on! Get moving!” She clapped.

Taking control allowed her to push her own confusion deep down. Contemplation of her personal reality and the nature of the universe around her were swirling, vague topics. She didn’t even know where to start with them… but this? This she could do.







<Holbeck, Leeds, England>



As Carol just sat down to dinner it was past midnight in the UK and by comparison young Billy Batson hadn’t eaten in over a day. This didn’t really bother him though. He was aware of his hunger but it wasn’t as high a priority as it might have been for someone who wasn’t as used to it as he was.

No, he was more preoccupied with the sight he had seen hours ago: the golden void, the floating male figure… those others just beyond in the light.

He was used to a certain variety of stimulus in his life: this alley he found himself in that was so like the many he’d made “homes” in when need be, general exposure to the elements, the elusiveness of sleep, silence only occasionally interrupted by those seeking to help themselves by attempting to “help” him. This phenomenon he experienced was new and he never responded well to anything new or different very well.

Even his comics couldn’t help him center.

Since he was a child the one true constant in his life was an antique collection of comic books, that supposedly had been his birth-father’s. Focused on the adventures of an anthropomorphic rabbit called ‘Hoppy the Magic Bunny’. Originating sometime in the ‘40s. They were his comfort, obsession and security. He would read and re-read them religiously all day, every day. Though this would be interrupted more and more since he left the Council Home.

The caretakers at the Home for Boys he had landed in weren’t equipped to deal with his special needs and he chose to relieve them of being responsible for him rather than wait for them to adapt. He had lived on the streets for the majority of his ten years on this Earth and that is the life he was now used to and more importantly understood.

His only possessions being the clothes on his back, taken from a shelter, and the satchel carrying his precious Hoppy.

“You alright there son?” A gurgle came from a nearby heap in the alley.

He immediately looked down at himself, wondering why someone would ask such a thing. Was he doing something wrong?

“I haven’t done anything.” He muttered.

With a groan an old man roused himself from underneath the pile of refuse, overweight and balding the man nonetheless had a kindly look about him.

“Lad I’m not accusing you of something.” The man coughed/laughed, “Just seeing if you need some help?”

“I don’t like new people.” Billy said casually, purposefully not meeting the old man’s eyes.

“Good thing I’m old as dirt.” The man laughed again and again went into another coughing fit as a result, “Name’s Dudley… I’ve seen you round.” He smiled genially.

“I haven’t seen you.” Billy said flatly.

“Ha!” Dudley guffawed, “No I imagine you’d remember if you did.” He chortled casting a wry eye down at himself, “Sorry to startle you by the way.”

“I’m not startled by you but you’re appearance is a little off-putting.” Billy said evenly, no malice in his voice. This caused Dudley to laugh once more, a reaction Billy was unaccustomed to. Usually by now those who tried to intervene on his behalf would have been put off by his forthrightness and his difficulty with social interaction.

“You’re too right about that.” Dudley laughed, lying back down, “Well it’s late my boy, I’m gonna get some shut eye. Holler at me if you do need something.” He winked before letting his eyes close.

Billy regarded the other man and realized that despite trying to help, as others had done, he hadn’t interfered with Billy’s personal space, he hadn’t made Billy uncomfortable, he hadn’t brought up Billy’s age (at least as a negative) as most do and most remarkably he hadn’t been scared off by Billy’s “oddities”.

Billy slowly walked over to the opposite wall of the alley from the old man and sat down against it, resting his satchel beside him. He too closed his eyes. He knew thought that he’d get no sleep this night, instead he let his eyes wander back to that memory.

The shining model of heroic figure floating in a gilded cosmos. Now that he thought back to it though he could see someone just beyond that archetypal figure, a stooped old man (as different from Dudley as a similarly ancient man could be), hooded with only his bearded chin showing, the hair of which fell long past his waist. Resting on the elder’s beard was a scroll on which he wrote furiously.

“Are you the wizard Shazam?” He asked aloud, the man looked almost exactly like the illustrations of the sorcerer who had changed a normal rabbit into Hoppy the Magic Bunny.

The man laughed.

“Maybe. Maybe I am son. You can call me that if you like.”

Billy knew how the story went from here and it assaulted his senses, the thought of some drastic transformation both thrilling him and causing him to freeze in horror.

“I don’t like change.” Billy said aloud and in response the hooded man laughed again, though this time derisively.

“You better get used to it.” He said, his voice low and commanding but he never looked up from his writing.

“I don’t like new people…” Billy echoed himself, weaker than when he’d said the same to Dudley as he fought his own intrigue at the situation before him.

“You’ll get used to that too. This is no longer a single protagonist story my boy. Now come on now.” He gestured him in.

Despite himself… Billy stepped forward.







<Cape Canaveral, Florida>



After a long day Carol finally found herself back at home. As she entered her humble abode with a well-earned sigh, she slowly began to unpack the events that had just befallen her. With each stich of her uniform she removed, she allowed a little piece of tension to leave her body.

The image of the malicious man in purple lingered in the back of her mind. His cackling glee at the strife he caused…

The Sentry transforming before her eyes… like magic. The horrific clashing of metal as it advanced on her, ringing in her ears.

Most of all she considered her own transformation. The fire within her. Not just that but how natural it felt. It made the mundane reality the she returned to feel false and incomplete. No longer feeling like Carol Danvers acting as a larger than life hero… now it was the reverse: she felt like she was just acting the part of Carol Danvers, like she had becoming something so much more than the normal person she had been and she was just barely holding it back.

Part of her wanted to find that memory of the golden void she had seen and cross through once more… never looking back.

“Hey there.” Came the warm voice of her boyfriend Dr. Michael Barnett, immediately making her feel like crap for even thinking such a selfish and heartless thought.

Her lover’s handsome form soon filled up her sightline as he came over to her, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder as he made to embrace her. She smiled, mostly sincerely, and returned the gesture. The man smiled that smile at her, the one that made her wish she was half as decent as he was. He was older than her and yet she constantly had it in her head that she needed to protect him, he was still so kind and unjaded about this cruel, cruel world. Despite being in his early 40s he could have passed for being a good 20 years younger despite a slight recede in his sandy gold-brown hair.

“Hey.” Carol returned as they separated just enough to converse, their arms still wrapped around one another.

“Long day huh?” Michael said rhetorically, having been kept mostly up-to-date via vague texts by Carol throughout the day, not to mention having the news running in the background: Carol’s image currently staring back at herself on the screen.

“Don’t worry,” Michael said as she stared, mouth no doubt agape, “They’re only saying the nicest things.” He said with a little laugh.

“God did they have to use that photo.” She rolled her eyes, internally reprimanding herself for turning down an interview, “Has this been on all day?”

“No they paused briefly, there was some kind of explosion in university in Portland. Some professor blew himself up as some kind of political protest…” Michael said sadly, shaking his head.

“God the world really is going crazy…” Carol turned back to the screen.

“…Who this new hero is or what her motives really are remain unknown. Officials from the base have offered no final word or explanation for the events and what little footage exists is almost unusable.” The anchorwoman said, openly disappointed. “Let’s go to Katie who’s on site with several witnesses.”

The screen cut to an energetic looking young woman with blown out hair and too much makeup next to a bewildered middle aged woman who was wiping tears from her eyes.

“Ma’am can you tell us what you say here today?” Katie said, hamming for the camera.

“It was all very confusing…” The woman said weakly, “We were there for the launch, there was a man by the rocket… the officers confronted him and suddenly… the rocket moved like it was alive and there was a light… a woman appeared as if from nowhere.”

Carol took note of this… they didn’t know it was her… How could they not know? Suddenly doubt filled her own mind: was it her? Was she going mad too…?

“She was so bright,” The woman being interviewed continued, “Then we saw… or, I saw…” She stopped, her voice fading.

“Go on.” Katie pushed.

“It’s silly but I saw…” She cried, “My aunt picking me up after I broke my leg when I was six…?” It wasn’t a question but the woman sounded like she didn’t even believe herself, tears forming anew.

“You wanna talk about it?” Michael said, shaking Carol out of her reverie.

“Yes. God yes but also? No. I don’t know. There’s so much that I don’t even know how to put into words.” Carol sighed with a smile.

“You mean Captain Marvel right?”

“Who?” Carol asked, eyes narrowing.

“That’s what they’re calling her. The new superhero who showed up.” Michael shrugged, “Catchy name. Out of the messed up video they have of the incident they were able to catch a brief audio clip of that strange man calling her ‘captain’ and the media ran with it.”

Carol mentally began to contemplate how to tell him that he had it wrong, she was the one they were talking about but: she didn’t. The words never came.

“Listen,” She smiled again, “We are gonna talk about this until it’s boring and mundane but… not right now, okay?” She smirked, kissing his cheek. He laughed moving in for a deeper kiss, humming as he did so.

“Okay.” He said as their lips parted, “Anything you want.”

Carol nodded, once again regarding her partner’s boundless selflessness.

“I’m gonna go change.” She said trying to keep her inner bemusement off her face, so he wouldn’t worry.


“Okay sweets, dinner’s almost ready.”

She nodded and walked back to their bedroom, letting the smile fall from her face as she did so. She should talk him right? She wasn’t so sure. This was his job after all, even how they met. Though nothing romantic happened between them until after they stopped their sessions, of which they only had two or three. So no matter what her brother’s may say, nothing inappropriate occurred.

She was never the kind of “strong female character” who shunned attempts to help her. She didn’t need to prove anything, she had always welcomed sincere advice and constructive criticism. Why couldn’t she bring herself to say something? Deep down she knew why, he was too close to this. He was her boyfriend first and a psychiatrist a distant third or fourth at this point. She needed someone objective because if she was going crazy: she wanted to know for sure.







<Burbank, California>



In what appeared to be an abandoned old Hollywood style soundstage, replicating a grey rocky terrain, with an American flag standing proudly in the fake dirt, surrounded by black curtains on all sides. Several cloaked figures stood aimlessly around a gaudy similarly theatrical looking sarcophagus near the front of the room.

Standing in the room’s center was a buxom Asian woman, contrasting the enigmatic figures cut by those around her with a rather over the top and overtly sexual outfit: she wore a sequined white tube top, with a high-shouldered bolero, white lycra pants with flared legs and even a bedazzled white cowboy hat to match.

She looked up at the seeming leader of this “coven” who too wore a hooded robe but where the others’ were pale and colorless his was a vibrant silver in color, a crescent moon symbol adorning the top of his hood. He stood just in front of a large projector screen, framing him dramatically from behind as he framed the golden sarcophagus in turn: standing over it like a priest at an altar.

“Hi boys,” The vibrant woman hummed, “Miss me?”

“You may want to wipe that smug look off your face.” The “lead” hooded figure snapped angrily. The woman’s smirk faded and she looked immediately thrown off, casting her eyes to one of the anonymous mass: a softer figure in a light blue cloak that hung near her supportively.

“What’s the problem Rogg?” She snapped back, “The Hero is currently spread over that campus in several small piles. You’d think you’d be jumping for joy.”

“Oh haven’t heard? You may have missed the latest news on your flight back from Portland “Mallory”.” The man retorted callously as he clicked a small remote concealed in his hand causing a screen to light up behind him replaying the salvaged footage of “Captain Marvel vs. the Sentry”.

The look on the woman’s face said it all. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

“You’re not thinking that she’s…”

“We are.” Another voice sounded angrily from the throng around them.

“Professor Winkel was the one.” She enunciated every word with an angry beat, “Even that Jones man was sure of it! I met with the man he was reeking of all that savior ideology shite.”

“Raven please…” The blue robed figure tried to shush her.

The man she called Rogg looked at her the way nearly every high school principal in a every teen movie looks at the hero just before it all goes to hell.

“I should never have sent you or trusted your paramour’s word alone.” He tisked. “I should have known… I thought with our shared interests in nullifying “the Hero” we could make this work but I should have known that we of higher plane could never work with… your kind.”

“You sanctimonious son of… Destiny’s visions have built your little conspiracy here, lifted it out of the shadows and given it any sense of momentum it’s managed to rub together.” She grabbed the hand of the light blue garbed figure who had tried to calm her earlier, clearly a lithe female form beneath the cloak as the she stood closer to Raven’s side but still attempted to assuage her partner’s rage.

“The same visions that saw your precious Professor Winkel with the power of the Hero?!” Rogg snapped back mockingly.

“You don’t even know if this glowing bitch is the one! She could be any new superhero! It’s like fucking whack-a-mole with those spandex jockeys these days.” She snapped angrily throwing her hat to the ground and taking on her true form: her dark blue skin returning, the short slick hair of her Asian guise giving way to her longer blood red waves and the eerie yellow light returning to her eyes.

“She’s the one Mystique. I can feel it in my gut. As Luna reflects Sol: I can feel her energy rising, even as it mirrors in me…” He waxed poetic fondling a large gemstone on the sarcophagus’s breastplate, missing another eye roll from Raven.

“If Destiny says she saw Winkel possessing the power than that’s good enough for me.” Raven snapped. Destiny for her part looked back and forth between them like she was at a tennis match.

“There’s always only one hero Mystique.”

The blue skinned woman sighed.

“So what now?”

“Now you’re benched.” He said flatly, “We’ve sent other operatives in. Subtler operatives. Perhaps they can bring this “story” to an end before it ever really starts.” Rogg turned back to look at the screen behind him, leaving Raven to fume in Destiny’s comforting embrace.





<Cape Canaveral, Florida>



Sitting in the waiting room of the on-base psychiatrist, Carol got a bit of a head start by examining the very life choices that led to this moment. She wasn’t a proud woman, she wasn’t “above this” but at the same time there was a part of her she had to let go of just walking into this room. As the de facto leader of this base and its personnel this was side of herself she never planned on showing anyone here.

Michael had offered to refer her to someone, not military affiliated, but that was another thing entirely. That would have been an avoidance, a cowardly act. The only reason to do that was to not do what she’s doing right now and that was unacceptable to her. She was not a coward.

So here she sat, staring at some inspirational poster inspired by the moon landing. It read:

‘All you need to do is make one small step…’

She stared at it… telling herself it was a sign she was doing the right thing. Almost believing it.

“Major Danvers?” A warm voice called.

Carol almost didn’t hear it lost in her own thoughts, ironically as she prepared to unleash them on this poor unsuspecting doctor, she stood up to see a friendly looking woman gesturing for her come in the office. The woman was stunning, despite being older than Carol and wearing a sensible skirt suit she was the very image of the “blonde bombshell” Carol never quite let herself become.

“Everything okay, I didn’t think you heard me.” The doctor said as they walked into her office.

“Yes. Just a lot going on, I’m sorry.” Carol said as she took a seat on the chaise in front of the modest desk within.

“Please,” The other woman laughed, “No need to apologize. This is what I do.” She winked, “Now.” She said taking her seat behind said desk, “Do you prefer Major Danvers or…?”

“No, no Carol is just fine.”

“Good.” The woman smiled, “And by that same token before you ask no need for any “Dr. Sofen” business; the name’s Karla.” She winked clasping her hands together, “Now let’s begin.”






<New Orleans, Louisiana>



Officer Monica Rambeau was also reexamining her life choices but under very different circumstances than Carol’s. She was also contemplating the end of that life… nursing a GSW in her stomach that shock was doing a good job of helping her ignore… for the moment.

Now avoiding further gun fire behind pallets at the loading dock she and her partner were very unsuccessfully raiding.

Instead of the small handoff they had been expecting, their insider tip had instead been the lure for a full scale midnight massacre. Local crime lord Felipe Picaro having wanted to send a “message” to the New Orleans Harbor Police to stay out of his way.

“Andre?” Monica hissed into her radio, hoping to discern her partner’s current location, “Andre! Goddamn it! Where…” For a moment she couldn’t breathe… Had her heart stopped? “Are you?” She finished after her heart started firing again. She had last seen Andre dash around a shipment container just barely avoiding his own informal firing squad. Even as she called out for him her breathing became heavy again and she could feel her heartbeat becoming even slower.

No. Not like this.

“Where is the bitch…?” One of the gunmen hissed as they paced the dock looking for her. She tried to get a read for how many of them were still standing, as her com began to buzz at her side. She could hear a voice trying to break through but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Damn.” She sighed, closing her eyes preparing herself for the worst. Or “just being realistic” as her mother always told her whenever she said something negative… usually about Monica’s life. Though to her shock, it wasn’t defeat she felt but a warm sense of… hope? Something akin to hope at least…

Matching the newfound hope within her the buzzing of her radio picked up again.

“I don’t like new people.” A young boy’s voice beeped over the comm.

“You’ll get used to that too. This is no longer a single protagonist story...” A deep elderly male voice answered before the radio cut out again. Normally she’d be confused at such a random exchange, she somehow found it comforting… welcoming.

Enveloping her in that same warmth, that same kindling of emotion she had during her “vision” as Andre had called it, always the philosopher, that aurulent void… those strange people she had seen. Including, funnily enough, that blonde woman that had been on the news.

It… they? …seemed to be giving her some kind of strength. Lifting her up even. The hole both literal and figurative in her filled up with warmth. Her breath quickened, her heartbeat now not only came back full force but raced!

Taking that newfound fire she waited till she heard footsteps growing closer and whipped around the corner: managing to connect the butt of her gun with the nearest thug’s chin after barely getting a look at him. She stepped over his limp form without hesitation and pressed forward.

With each step the fire grew, her heart beat ever faster. Mortal wound or no she felt better than she ever had. Stronger than she ever was. “Who do you think you are?” Again her mother’s voice rang in her ears, again she paid it no mind.

Another step and now her gun was replaced with a fiery light radiating from her palms knocking the other men back.

She could do this.

That same drive Carol Danvers had felt now drove her forward, vaporizing the weapons of her attackers and knocking them into the sea. She reached out with her bright white light and felt Andre’s fear and moved towards it.

She could see what she needed to, she focused on that. Leaving her fear and the pain of her wound in her wake.

Without thinking she walked through the shipment container like it was thin air… or like she was? Light radiating off of her she appeared on the other side where they had her partner cornered like the fiery dawn, causing the criminals to fall back in awe.

“Monica…?” Andre questioned unsure of what he was seeing.

Was she? Was she still Monica?

She couldn’t care about that right now as the men turned their weapons on her, loud popping noises filling the night. The bullets came for her but she didn’t seem capable of being afraid of them any longer and they melted away as they hit the aura of blinding light that surrounded her.

Andre called out to her again but she couldn’t quite hear him, instead hearing the noisy quiet of the golden void.

The thugs ran and her heartbeat kept pounding away in her chest.

That same urge Carol had experienced to let the wave of energy take her away came over Monica. That same temptation to just give in and never look back…

As she wavered she felt hole in her stomach; still there… but it seemed so silly now. So human and almost… funny? She knew if she went back, her heart would slow again and she’d be on some dock covered in blood.

Why should she just to let some stupid kid’s bullet end her life?

“Monica!” Came Andre’s voice one last time over the tranquil din but this time she chose not to hear it. She let the wave of energy take her, let her body burn away and in a final flash of light… she was gone.

Captain Marvel
#3 - Cosmic Awareness






<Cape Canaveral, Florida>



“Just breathe.”



The melodic voice of Karla Sofen sounded and Carol could already feel it taking effect. Despite her nigh-cliché cry that “hypnotism doesn’t work on me”.

The comely psychotherapist sat before her and gently swung what Carol had come to think of as her trademark pendant back and forth. The moonstone she’d worn since their first session. The doctor let it waft naturally in the air, the gentle motions helping to lull Carol into a state repressed consciousness.

“Now close your eyes.” Karla hummed gently.

Doing so Carol let her last ounce of resistance go, choosing to trust the process.

“You spoke of questioning reality.” Karla went on, “Take me back to this event that brought up these questions…”

Carol felt herself fall further backwards into the couch, her inner self fell farther still: images from the past few days swirling around her like the surreal tunnel from Willy Wonka.

“You said you heard voices… saw faces… go back to that moment where you felt like you changed…” The doctor’s voice was rhythmic. Each word pronounced precisely on beat.

And suddenly the dreamy fog Carol ran up against every time she tried to remember that moment… parted.

She was thrust back into the golden void.

Its warm glow opened around like walking into a cave of light.

Again she saw that toned, striking masculine “ghost” floating in the center and again heard voices but there was less this time, just two. She walked forward and saw the same old man from that day, still writing on his endless scroll. It was the same but different… these weren’t her memories, this was new.

“Ah Ms. Danvers good to see you again.” The writer said his tone patriarchal and vaguely amused.

She regarded him warily and only as she stepped closer did she see the small form to his right. A young boy: dark hair, pale skin, wide eyes and barely moving. Beyond the boy she thought she saw a third figure… a pretty black woman in a police uniform… but only for a second then she was gone.

“This is Billy Batson, you two should be very close. He’ll be sharing your role with you.”

“What does that even mean?” Carol asked exasperated.

“You are the hero of the story. Oh sorry, it’s all new, I should say A hero of the story. I’ve decided to spice things up this time around.” He gestured to Billy.

“I will get used to you.” Billy said quietly. The first time he had spoken in Carol’s presence. She noted his English accent, coarse and stilted though it was.

“What does any of this mean? I mean please… can we cut the cryptic crap? If this is some kind of fever dream or hallucination… does it mean something? Like for real, in regards to my life.”

“Oh it means something very real. Stop that line of thinking altogether. Right now. This won’t get you anywhere if you come at it thinking that this is all a dream. You are a part of grand tradition of heroism that stretches back to when the Sun revolved around the Earth.”

“The Earth revolves around the Sun.” Billy corrected.

“Now, yes. Since they had to go and get their science all over it. Once my by it revolved around your precious green marble, occasionally pulled around it by a chariot no less.” The old man winked and returned to his writing.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying when I ask you for the meaning of all this.” Carol said definitively, “I mean cut the bullshit and be straight with me.”

“Is she angry?” Billy muttered.

“Ah Ms. Danvers.” The old man laughed ignoring the boy, “The power always chooses so wisely. Let’s begin at the beginning shall we?” The old man finally put down his scroll and stood, with some difficulty and wandered over to the glowing effigy of the man that had been present since these visions began.

“Once there was a near perfect culture. Throughout the eons “humanity” has been a growing and evolving experiment and in one such combination, oh so many lifetimes ago, I nearly got it right. This first nation produced the best and the brightest and one among them shown all the brighter.” He gestured to the vague human shape, “The Hero. His true name lost to time and fantasy, let’s call him Marvel after your own new nomme de plume.” The old man winked, “But it was not to last and this grand society fell apart and all other versions of culture and community that have followed have been… shall we say lacking? Simply not good enough and so into each came the legacy of the Hero. To inspire, to bring light in the darkness and each time it elevates the impurities and flaws of that world but never quite enough. So this time I’ve decided to change the story structure just a tad… this time there will be multiple heroes.”

“So you’re the one who created all this?” Carol asked trying desperately to follow along.

“Yes and no.” The man said, causing Carol to roll her eyes at yet more riddles, “I am the face the universe has given to it perhaps. A guiding hand is perhaps more accurate. Me and my siblings are representatives of various forces that make reality work. Order, chaos, life, death, emotion… etc. Young Billy calls me Shazam, others have called me Eon or even simply ‘Destiny’ but those are three drops in a vast well. I write the story.”

“That may, and I use the term loosely, explain the power that came over me but what about the Sentry did you do that? Transform it in to that monster? People could have died.”

“No, no my dear that was Mxyzptlk, you saw him yourself.” The man in purple’s cackling face splashed across the golden void for the briefest of moments, “A familiar foe, you might say I know that man backwards and forwards alas. He’s an agent of entropy, kin to me in as much as he is contrary perhaps but be wary of that one: He likes to play his part in the story but he does not know where the line of impropriety lies… make a wrong move and you may get a sprig of mistletoe between the eyes for your trouble.”

“Mix yeez… what?” Carol asked.

“Mxyzptlk.” Billy repeated, more to himself as if he was trying to remember it for later.

“A gibberish name and not even close to a true one by any means.” The “wizard” elaborated.

“And the other guy?” Carol asked remember the mop haired stranger she had first seen by the Sentry earlier that same day.

“That was your first peak through new eyes. With this power comes senses beyond your wildest imagination. You’ve heard the voices yes? Seen things you couldn’t possibly see or know? That man was a vision of something you’ll need to know down the line. He may be important to your part in the story, who’s to say you’ll have to find out but know that came from you not him. These senses will only grow as will your skill with them. You are now part of a collective consciousness or cosmic awareness. This supreme intelligence is valuable but also dangerous, for it can open you up to knowledge that would burn through your mortal form like a candle through parchment.” The “wizard” snapped his fingers for dramatic effect.

Even as all this nonsense washed over her Carol could “feel” the truth in it and once more the policewoman’s face appeared to her and seemed to be reaching out to her before once more vanishing. If she wasn’t mistaken… Billy had seen her too by the way his face darted back and forth.

“Why me...? Why now?” Carol asked, still exasperated.

“Again I must say I have no real answers for you, at not on why you specifically were chosen. The Story chooses the hero my dear. As for why now? Danger lurks around every corner, then again this world has never had any shortage of that. But there are dangers that are yours and yours alone to fight. The moon for instance.”

“The moon?” This came from Billy, “Is that a metaphor?”

“No, though I don’t mean it full literally either.” Another chortle escaped the ancient writer’s bearded mouth as he spoke, “The hero represents the Sun, the power of the heavens, its rise and fall. That which brings light to the Earth. The moon reflects the sun but as no true light of its own, the moon is dead and seeks the light of others to give itself purpose. Oh that hungry moon… it will surely gobble you up before you’ve even had a chance to get to the climax if you aren’t careful. The forces of the moon are already gathering, they’ve surely been made aware of your rebirth and they will find you.”

“What do I do?” Carol asked.

“Wake up.” The old man nodded.

“What?”

“I said you can wake up now.” Dr. Sofen smiled as Carol’s mind rose from the trance like state.

Carol sat up and looked around herself, taking in the surrounding of the Doctor’s office warily. A strange feeling having come over her, like she had just been dropped from a great height. She breathed slowly and tried to calm her heartbeat, ignoring the Doctor entirely by accident as she continued to speak.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Carol asked heavily.

“I was saying that we made some good progress today. You were able to vividly remember the robotic creature destroying the Sentry and even gave a brief description of that strange woman who intervened and saved your life.” Karla nodded supportively.

Every instinct in Carol’s head railed against this. That’s not what happened. Had she lied to cover for herself? Can you even lie when you’re hypnotized? Or, and Carol dreaded to think it, is that in fact the truth of what had occurred and she really was just losing her mind.

“Doctor… I need to run. Can we cut this session short just a tad?” Carol said brusquely, stranding up quickly only to nearly fall back down as dizziness swept over her as she did so. Karla leapt forward, catching her by the shoulders before she could fall.

“Are you alright?” She asked, trying to physically encourage her to sit back down

“Yes, thank you.” She said kindly but dismissively as she loosed herself from the other woman’s grasp and stepped towards the door, “I’m sorry I really do need to go, I will see you next week?”

“Yes of course.” Dr. Sofen answered a tone of concern still prevalent in her voice.

“Good, good.” Carol smiled, “I will see you then.” and with that exited the office in a blur.

Once alone Karla Sofen made her way back to her desk and sat down, holding up her pendant reverently. The visage of a bearded face and young boy still reflected within as the scene in the golden void played out over again for her viewing and wicked smiled crossed over the good doctor’s face.










<Burbank, California>



The glitz and glamour having worn off since their dramatic dressing down of Mystique the “coven” had dispersed leaving the soundstage empty. It’s once whimsical air now haunting as silence fell over the faux rocky terrain, the flag hanging limply and the sarcophagus, oddly enough for a vessel for the dead, providing the only “life” in the room… an odd glow and vibratory sound coming from the gaudy gemstone on its breast.

Rogg had absconded to a dressing room just off the set, styled in the same old Hollywood style as the rest of their surroundings, with the lone other cult member who remained: still wearing her pale robes but having let the hood fall away revealing a striking young woman, pale and most noticeably completely bald. She very beautiful in almost scary way despite her unconventional coif, with her arched eyebrows and intense eyes.

Rogg himself had stripped to his undershirt and boxers and sat at a vanity furiously removing the stage makeup he had used, along with the carefully chosen lighting, in order to make himself seem more intimidating. In the harsh light of dressing room’s fluorescent bulbs his age was more apparent: his wrinkled face and silver hair betraying his status as “over the hill”.

“Try to calm down John.” The bald woman said in a maternal tone, despite the years the man appeared to have on her.

“Don’t call me that.” He corrected, but not angrily, “It’s Yon or Rogg, you need to get into the habit of that.” He said flatly, still wiping his face.

“My apologies my lord.” She said simply, patting his shoulder. He quickly grabbed her hand before she could pull it back and brought it to his mouth, peppering it with small kisses a little pathetically.

“What if she’s right Heather? What if all this was for nothing?” He sobbed, rubbing his cheek childishly against the back of her hand. Heather appeared to be barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

“You know that’s not true Yon. You’ve “seen” those memories of the life before yourself, did they feel like an illusion? This life is the illusion. You’ve seen the Akashic Records, the “Cosmic Awareness” as they call it… however briefly. You KNOW that the Kree, that bright shining society that once was and will be again, was real. Do you want to get that back?” She hummed, running her free hand along his face.

“Yes of course…” He said weakly.

“Yes! Of course.” She repeated more definitively, “How could you stand by and do nothing? You want me to be your defender? Your “moondragon”?” She said in a simpering imitation of his voice, “Than you need to rise up. To let this perversion of existence around us continue… would be wrong.”

Suddenly a faint buzzing could be heard, breaking the somber mood in the air.

“One moment darling.” Heather said extracting her hand from Yon Rogg’s grasp with some difficulty.

She moved to the side and removed her cell from within her robes, the name ‘Karla Sofen’ illuminated in blue text on the screen.

“I need to get this my lord.” Heather bowed subtly, “A family matter, I’m sure you understand.” She didn’t wait for leave as she exited the dressing room and quietly closed the door behind her.

“At last,” Heather exclaimed with relief as she answered, “My dear Karla please tell me you have news.”

“You know I do.” Dr. Sofen answered confidently, “I managed to piggy back with her as she went to see the old man. This is big Heather.”

“Just tell me.”

“There’s more than one of them this time. MULTIPLE heroes.”

“Damn… that freak Darkholme was right.” Heather hissed.

“How is Rogg gonna take this?”

“We’re not telling him yet… we’ll wait and get more information first.” Heather finished quickly, cutting off any objection Karla may have had to their discretion.

“You know best.” Karla said simply.

“Yes…” Heather pursed her lips, looking back at the dressing room, “Yes indeed.”









<Manhattan, New York>



Richard had had this dream before.

He was flying through the skies as a member of the Nova Corps! Though the fact that it appeared to be the New York City skyline versus an intergalactic starscape was different from the way these dreams usually went.

The other difference is that his dreams were never this vivid.

Every one of his senses was alight. The city below should have been a swirling mass of blurry images and confusion but instead the world below him opened up like a beautiful tapestry of lights. The light didn’t seem to be coming from the buildings however, no the brightest ones seem to represent the people. Each little person glowing like a star making the city match the heavens above him.

Just by concentrating on one he could make the light grow and see into that person’s own “world”. Their hopes, their dreams and their fears…

The fears were particularly noticeable as after a few moments a singular image began to show up in each light he looked at. A towering visage resembling an ancient Egyptian statue or sarcophagus, Richard would have no way of know but it was in fact identical to the one kept by the lunar coven that haunted the ‘Hero of the Story’, save for its grander size and more importantly the fact that it not only appeared to be alive but was moving toward him: appearing in the lights of people closer and closer to him.

Finally the adventure!

Richard surged forward, his exhilaration perhaps helping to mask the growing aura of terror from the lights below.

Below him the people, still out at this hour of course this was New York after all, pointed up at him as he flew by smiling, clapping, swearing… it was New York after all…

That’s not what he paid attention to though. There was a rhythm to this dream, almost a thrumming beat, getting quicker, as he soared around each corner. As with most dreams time seemed to be liquid, the meandering travel between points seeming to take no time at all.

And just as a wave of dread threated to break over the crest of his excitement he saw it. The ‘Sphinx’ as he had decided to call it without really knowing why. It lumbered from behind one building only to smash into the next. ‘I seeee you.’ Richard thought to himself with smile.

The creature’s light, was dim to the point of invisibility but it was there. There was some kind of consciousness buried deep beneath its gilded shell.

“Stop! In the name of the Nova Corps!” Richard proclaimed, trying to get his cadence the same as the dialogue from the game.

“No, no… I see you.” A deep resonating moan escaped the creature and despite his mouth never moving there was no doubt as to who had said it.

That took Richard back. It “heard” him? His thoughts?

‘This is just a dream.’ He thought again, now the fear from those around him reaching him once more… or was it his own fear?

“Dreaming? Not… dreaming…” The Sphinx’s speech was labored but it sounded almost aghast, disappointed? “Come here now.” He snapped like a school teacher about to give a dressing down.

And there was that pesky fear he’d been fighting back. The very thought of going anywhere near that thing terrified him and so? That is exactly what he did. He lunged forward. Hitting the “Sphinx” square in the chest. And bouncing off like a paper airplane…

As he thudded to the ground he briefly felt his bed underneath him, that state of not awake but not asleep when I dream gets to intense. The Dreaming soon won the battle though and it was once more firm cement he felt and a sore backside.

The Sphinx loomed over him and for a moment he just breathed and then… he felt the light of a young boy watching from his apartment window and felt the hope seeing “Nova” gave him and felt that bloom inside him like a candle.

Next, as it stood up, it was the encouraging thoughts of a young woman just up the side walk that made the fire grow stronger.

Richard moved forward and now the Sphinx stepped back.

And somewhere in Richard’s soul he felt another presence… a woman telling him to keep going. She pushed him to ignore the fear, the pain. ‘If this is a dream’, she thought, ‘make it a great one’.

As he took to the air once more: five more lights joined them… beating in his chest. Their glow emanating off him like illuminated steam. Their joy, their strength, their hope… powering him up like a battery and he locked eyes once more with the Sphinx.

“You’re not listening to me.” The Sphinx bellowed as it swung it’s mighty arms forward.

“I’m trying.” Richard said, his eyes widening trying to see into the creature’s light. The barest glimpse of an old man… Middle Eastern maybe? Shaking and mumbling to himself was all Richard could see before he caught a stone-like fist in his face for his trouble.

“Pay attention.” The Sphinx spat as it fell towards him, grasping and thrashing as he did so.

“You have my attention I assure you.” Richard said holding his hands together and raising them up. He pulled in every ounce of positive energy he could feel stemming off those around him and with a quick intake of breath he released it: a bright beam of radiant force shooting from his joined palms.

As the energy washed over the towering creature a little bit more of the light beneath it became visible: the same quivering old man, screaming silently. A bald woman standing in the man’s thought’s like an imperious queen. The energy between them instantly making Richard think of chess: queen and queen’s bishop.

As the light became too bright even for Richard he closed his eyes… only to open them again as his alarm clock went off. He awoke, already pretty alert, once more just normal Richard Ryder back in his bed in Jersey. Before anything else he quickly reached for his dream journal so he could write the story down before it slipped away. One day when he programmed his own video games all these ideas would eventually come in handy.

He was just to the part where he got the upper hand when his father burst into his room.

“Richard.” He said in an exasperated yet affectionate voice, “Your alarm Richard. Your alarm!”

“Oh!” Richard had forgotten to shut it off in his sleep rattled excitement to put his dream to paper before it faded away, “Sorry.” Richard said abashedly.

“It’s fine, my boy.” His father sighed, “Unfinished homework?” His father’s eyes narrowed noting the pen and paper.

“No, no… it’s nothing.” Richard said putting it aside and swinging out of bed. His father nodded and turned to go but then suddenly turned back.

“Oh my boy, remember that Nova game you used to go crazy for as a kid?”

“Vaguely.” Richard smirked knowingly.

“Some new super showed up last night dressed just like him. He stopped some Egyptian mummy come to life last night in Manhattan.” He father laughed stopping only when he noticed the widening look on Richard’s face, “What wrong son?”

“Nothing that’s just… just had a weird dream is all.”

His father looked like he wasn’t sure if he should question Richard further but smiled and saw himself out after all to let the boy change and get ready for school.

Once alone Richard looked down at his notepad and after a moment… he smiled.









<Somewhere else entirely>



As Monica Rambeau fell through the spiraling cosmos she now found herself in she seemed to find an eerie calm inside herself to hold onto.

“This collective consciousness… cosmic awareness…” The old man’s voice reverberated through the void, “Supreme intelligence...”

“Akashic Records.” Heather’s voice now snapped aloud.

Monica smiled. None of this meant anything. She saw a young boy and a blonde woman in somewhat masculine semi-formal attire. They stood a ways off in the same void being lectured to by an old writer. She’d known men like that. Men who like to tell other people what they are. She reached out to the woman, tried to offer her comfort and for a moment it felt like it worked but on and on she fell, and the woman and the boy… Carol and Billy an inner voice told her, faded away.

Now she felt another sensation, more intimate and less so at the same time. She found herself “in” another person’s soul. He was much farther away than the others but she felt like she was embodying him for a moment. ‘Richard’ she thought to herself.

His mind was swirling with confusion. He didn’t even know what was happening. He seemed to be in two places at once, in bed asleep and also a city away in armor fighting a monster in downtown Manhattan.

He shouldn’t worry about the whys and whats, not right now. Seize the moment!

“If this is a dream,” She shouted with all her might, “Make it a good one!”

“A weird dream…” Richard’s voice now sounded in the abyss and Monica smiled.

Soon her falling seemed to accelerate and despite herself she felt the sensation of her “body” tensing up despite not having a body at all. This phantom feeling increased, representing her own doubt as she got closer to a strange mass in the center of this seemingly endless void.

She remembered her own advice to Richard and pushed forward.

The mass was mostly spherical in shape with great tentacles flailing forth from it, each of these serpentine stalks swiped back and forth.

“What are you?”

“I thought.” A monstrous and sinister voice entered her head, “You weren’t supposed to worry about the whys and the whats.” The entity said with a wet laugh.

“Nevertheless.” Monica thought defiantly.

“Weren’t you listening? You heard the man. I’m the Supreme Intelllegence the one meant to devour you whole.”

And with that same awful bellowing laugh Monica was pulled forward further, no longer falling but actively being drawn in… and darkness overtook her.









<Cape Canaveral, Florida>



Carol just wanted to know she wasn’t crazy. As long as she could believe that she could bare, momentarily at least, with not knowing much of anything else.

As she struggled with this existential question she also struggled with her keys as she tried to get into her house while being entirely distracted from actually doing so.

“Major Danvers!” A loud voice came up from behind her and despite him not actually touching her she felt a hand come far too near to her elbow for her liking.

She spun around, going into full “Major mode”

“May I help you?” She snapped sternly her eyes narrowing but all of her bravado fell away when she saw it was that same raggedy young man she had experienced a vision of that first day this all started. The same floppy brown hair and different, but equally disheveled, clothing.

“I’m sorry I got a bit excited.” He shrugged.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Rick Jones. I’m an investigative journalist.” He said holding out a card to Carol which she took gingerly.

“Listen,” The man continued, “If I’ve got the timing right. You’ve already seen the old man by now. He’s given you the whole sword and sorcery sale pitch right?”

Carol just stared, no answer but she looked at him expectantly.



“Nice huh? Full of fantasy and magic with strong protagonist and tried and true plot?” Jones snarked, “How’d you like to hear the “just the facts” rebuttal from the free media?”



Carol looked the man up and down and with a sigh, she nodded.



“I’m listening.”

Captain Marvel
#4 - Benediction and Response






“God fearing” is a phrase Monica often heard as a girl but when people said it they didn’t necessarily mean it in the way you usually consider ‘fear’: they really meant respect or devotion. Love: in its most terrible form. “Love me or else…”

Monica however soon truly developed a very real fear of God and what such a concept represented.

In her mind it was always something like this.

This so-called Supreme Intelligence that currently had her wrapped in its tendrils seemed no different, just another name for an apathetic cosmic force who takes pleasure in the suffering of mere mortals.

As a child: Her sister would often hold her down when they would play, fight or both and soon this evolved into holding her under things: tables, furniture… even once shutting her in the trunk of their car. To her it was a game, to Monica it was terrifying.

Her mother would say: “She’s just playing with you.” or “Don’t be a tattletale Monica.”

Just as she would say: “God is watching.” or “You’ll go to hell for that little girl.”

Who wouldn’t fear living at the mercy of someone, some thing, infinitely more powerful? It wasn’t just the power though, it was the apathy… the cruelty.

Her mother wasn’t abusive if that’s what you’re thinking. She was “god fearing” and she wanted Monica to be too. To “save” her. She was hardened by the cruelty of mankind and even though she didn’t realize it… she wanted Monica to be that too. Hard, jaded.

“Love me or else…”

As she drifted bodiless, being pulled into this expansive consciousness like a viper would a field mouse, this old fear came back to her. She could feel this greater force all around her. An entity that knew she was scared, knew she was in pain… and didn’t care. That in fact enjoyed it, even drew strength from her torment.

That such a force of cruelty existed… that’s what she was afraid of most: that precipice where apathy turned to sadism. God sends plagues and devastation because we deserve it, as proponents of intelligent design would say.

“Intelligent design.” Some rampaging sky father who creates life only to watch it suffer, often cause such suffering, based on a series of arbitrary rules. Break these rules and you’re cast into a pit of eternal despair, not chance to learn and grow this is what your life was for?

You get roughly eight decades to prove yourself or eternity in Hell?

How is that love?

Wasn’t love supposed to go both ways?

That’s why she decided for herself one day, there was no God.

And that day the reason why she does what she does became clear. She goes out there and finds people in trouble and she saves them. Really saves them, no “thoughts and prayers”.

“Do you think that makes you better?” The entity digesting her asked, seemingly genuinely curious, “That you observe the natural state of indifference in the universe and make a choice to do the opposite? Do you actually care or are you telling yourself you do? Forming an identity on reacting to others is not really an identity… you’re still letting them choose your fate for you. In life or in death.”

No that wasn’t right. She mustn’t let herself doubt. She still remembered that fire in her gut when she got back up on the docks, bullet still inside her and kept going: not because she sees herself as a hero or because she feels superior but simply because to her there was no God and if there was… he certainly wasn’t answering any prayers. So someone else had to.

“Love me or else…” What was the ‘or else?’

She once told her mother that God wasn’t real and received a slap for her trouble. Truthfully she didn’t know if God was real or not but the thing was: she HOPED he wasn’t. Not just that: she truly hoped there was no heaven or hell either.

Had she died? Was this Hell? Was her mother right all along?

She knew she wasn’t alive anymore or at least not in the same way she had been. Her body had burned up and she became something more. She may be the field mouse but like a viper she could feel herself stretch and bend across reality itself.

Mundane concepts such as time and space seemed to fade away as she experienced life in an entirely new way.

She knew she was a disembodied ego being devoured by a Lovecraftian cosmic force but at the same time, there she sat in their family pew at the First Baptist’s church back in New Orleans. It was more than a memory. It was as if she could walk into her past like she would a room in a house.

“Mama is this almost over?”

Monica knew it was a mistake the minute she said it and she felt the hot sting of her mother’s palm on the back of her neck.

“This is the house of the Lord, Monica. Show respect. He’s listening. Always.”

But she wasn’t there because she believed in God or got anything out of it. She was there out of obligation and eventually out of fear. It was empty. Pointless.

“Love me or else…”

Other memories flooded in, memories that weren’t hers, they seemed to come from both herself and be flowing from the intelligence as well.

That blond woman, ‘Carol Danvers’ her subconscious provided, standing up… changing as she made to fight the sentry. Grasping her moment. Taking the fire of heaven and rising up.

No, she rallied, indifference was not the natural state of the universe… it was an infection: that needed to be cut out.

She relaxed, letting herself be drawn in further… love or else, love or not: this was going both ways. This may not be her moment but her moment would come. For now she let the images wash over her. Let herself fall into Carol Danvers a bit.

Catching up to where Carol was now she saw her sitting at a coffee shop with a disheveled young man. Her lips pursed, her eyes wary: she too was biding her time.










<Cape Canaveral, Florida>



The other patrons at ‘Never Bean Better’ had no way of knowing that the conversation between the stern faced blonde woman and the man who looked like an actor researching life as a homeless person could potentially decide the fate of the world.

“You’re by no means the first but I’m sure he told you that.” Rick said taking a sip of his chai latte.

“He did. He showed me the first. A nameless hero of a perfect society.” Carol remembered that floating male figure in the golden void.

“Yes, I know about him. What an honor eh? The height of perfection reduced to be a glorified conversation piece… a fucking coffee table, in the living room of the gods.” Rick laughed, “Still…” He sighed, “A better fate than some.”

“Is that why you’re here to warn me?”

“Something like that.” Rick said wryly, all but winking, and suddenly Carol was filled with the dreaded realization that on some level he was flirting with her. She’d never get the image of backhanding him out of her head now.

“Please be blunt, I’m not in the mood for coy today.” She said sipping her coffee.

“But of course,” He smirked, “I’m here to warn you yes but that implies I want to stop what’s happening and on that front I absolutely do not.” Upon seeing Carol’s further displeasure at his whimsy he sobered a bit; “Have you ever heard of Robert Grayson?”

“Name sounds familiar.” Carol mused.

“It should, he was the last “Hero” and also a military man like yourself.” Rick said in a tone nearing ‘suave’ until he realized what he just said, “I mean in the military like yourself, like you.” Carol smiled but let the moment pass as he collected himself, “It didn’t end very well for him.”

“Let me guess the military tried to use him as a weapon?” Carol rolled her eyes.

“No they tried to help him.” Rick said, eyes serious, “The energy burned through him and made him “more” in the same way it has touched you and with each day he found himself drawn closer and closer to danger. The story would be boring otherwise, no?”

“I’m no stranger to risk Mister Jones.”

“You’ve never experienced danger like this. This is darkness from beyond the world, monsters from before creation and terror from within the mind. When I say he drawn further towards danger I mean drawn further away from humanity. In the end you could barely call him a person.”

“And yet you say you’re not trying to stop all this.”

“Not at all. It’s a great and wondrous power, look at this world you can’t deny there’s use for it. The thing is it has to be on our terms.”

“Our?” Carol asked incredulously.

“Humankind Ms. Danvers. Wee mortals. We can’t give ourselves over to the ‘One Above All’ or some such mumbo jumbo.”

“Mumbo jumbo is quite a flip way to discuss something you know is real.”

“I know the power is real Ms. Danvers but the flights of fancy that come with it are what will get you killed. The endless grail quest for the “Kree”.”

“The what?”

“It’s what they call that great nation of theirs. The first nation. The perfect society. The thing they are so desperately trying to recreate through you.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You shouldn’t it only exists in some dream. Cooked up by the same kinds of wackadoos that think Wicca is the world’s oldest religion, never mind any older than the sixties.” He laughed, “It’s all just some fantasy that bored cosmic layabouts dreamed up on some heavenly acid trip.”

Carol felt another presence listening in on this conversation. More than one even. Monica Rambeau, a name she shouldn’t even know, had been on her thoughts since they sat down but now another set of mental “eyes” seemed to join in… the young boy from her visit with the writer. William Batson.

“They tell me to focus on real things too.” Billy’s sad voice sounded in her mind.

“So,” Carol said brushing the English boy’s worry away for the moment, “What would you have me do?”

“I can connect you with people. People with intimate knowledge of these events and the “Hero”. People who can help you not got lost into that golden void.”

She felt Monica cringe at his condescending suave act and Richard’s unease; “He acts like those gamers who try to act all cool and then trick you into giving up your real name or personal info...” The young man’s voice reverberated in Carol’s head.

Carol considered this.

“Why should I trust you over a literal cosmic being? Humans are all too flawed, trust me I know.”

“Exactly.” Rick smiled, “The devil you know. You say you know humans, what do you know about God? About Gods plural? About the monsters that live in the suburbs of Heaven? Listen I’m not asking you to marry me just yet but take my card.” At which point he proffered the very card.

After another moment she took it.

“And what about you?” She said quietly but firmly taking Rick off guard.

“I’m sorry?” He asked mouth remaining slightly agape.

“You said you can connect with me people who can help me. What’s your purpose?”

Rick’s bravado completely fell away for a moment, bringing a moment of satisfaction to Carol and the others watching this interaction just behind her eyes.

“I guess you’ll just have to see.” He said, his smirk returning but it never reached his eyes.

“Yes.” Carol said, Richard and Monica smiling with her even as Billy drew further away, “I suppose we will.”










<Holbeck, Leeds, England>



“I don’t like this.” Billy said, caressing his satchel, as he fell back to reality. Waking in the same alley now just in the dead of night. How long had it been? The disorientation he felt threatened to overwhelm him. He stood as still as he could

“I chose not to.” He said to no one in particular, at least no one anywhere nearby.

A laugh answered him. The same giggling phantom that had graced the old writer’s walls floating around him for a split second.

“Mxyzptlk.” Billy repeated again.

There was no answer. Had he imagined it?

The old man… Dudley who had helped him, been kind to him, still lay in his heap across the way. Asleep… or dead. Billy wasn’t sure and was not going to check.

Instead he walked out of the alley. Tears on his face and a laugh ringing in his mind.

He stepped on the ground too hard, purposefully brushing against the buildings nearby as hard as he could. The pain and soreness helping to keep him anchored but just barely.

“How do I get back?” He asked, again to no one really, as he brushed his satchel with religious admiration.

The wizard in his Hoppy stories laid things out with simple, uncomplicated instruction. He helped, simply and unambiguously to make sense of what was going on.

This “wizard” appeared to be doing quite the opposite.

He had injected complication into Billy’s world and, like Monica, he felt like he was being swallowed by it.

“Boy!” A voice called and despite its vulgar deepness his mind attributed it to the imp Mxyzptlk without looking back. He kept walking even as he heard steps behind him.

“I chose not to be a part of this.” He whispered, echoing himself.

“Get over here!” The voice screamed again.

But Billy wasn’t listening, his mind closing off as he focused on the pain in his feet and the feel of brick siding against his arms as he broke into a run.

The trouble was he was being pursued in person and by the faces inside his own head now and yet… still he ran.










<Cape Canaveral, Florida>



Mystique was in rage. Their cheap hotel room already too small for three people was feeling all the more claustrophobic as Destiny tried to corral her partner as far from the sleeping form just a few feet away as possible. Soft hushing noises escaping her as she did so, none doing much to affect the shapeshifter’s volume but luckily so far their companion did not stir.

Ever since the meeting with Rogg Mystique had been inconsolable with anger. Despite her indignance that Destiny’s word be taken as bond she refused to be calmed by her promise that they were still very much “in the game”.

Mystique didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to sit back and let things happen, as she often accused Destiny of doing, she wanted to be in control… of everything. It was the only way she wouldn’t be so afraid.

Right now she was settling for being angry at everything instead.

Nothing Destiny hadn’t seen before, in reality or in days to come. She met it as she always did, with the calm complacency of one who had given into fate. As always, this only seemed to make her lover all the madder.

“Irene; Can you please feel something about this.” The blue skinned woman seethed.

“Raven you must calm down this instant.” Destiney, Irene, shushed her partner again, the older (at least visibly so) woman’s eyes darting over to their charge as Mystique wrung her hands, shaking with fury.

“How can I calm down?” Mystique wailed as quietly as she was capable of being at this moment, “We’ve been thrown out like trash. The way they talked to me… the way they looked at us…”

“Raven.” Destiney chided once more, “With as many times as I’ve told you: you should surely know just as surely as I do that our roles our secured. We all still have our parts to play.”

At this Mystique’s face fell and she too looked over the twin bed holding the miraculously still sleeping young woman nearby.

“Yes… our parts.” She said, stressing the word ‘our’, “Don’t you see?!” Mystique snapped, “If I’d been able to snuff out this Hero before they even screwed the first damsel in distress to cross their path… she’d never even have to come into this.”

Irene sighed affectionately, resting a hand on her lover’s shoulder.

“Oh honey.” The prophetess cooed, “She was always going to be a part of this.”

But instead of this being comforting, as intended, Raven irately shook off Irene’s hand and turned to her with a scowl.

“And you’re just so fine with that aren’t you?”

At this Irene was at a loss. She could see Raven’s reaction to everything she was about to say and none of it seemed to help. So in the end she went with honesty:

“I am fine with it. I’ve given in to it. You know this. Me denying it now will solve nothing, me pretending to be conflicted will solve nothing.” Irene smiled empathetically, softly with some sadness. “From the moment we met, from the moment we found her… I’ve known what’s coming. The path changes but the destination keeps coming.”

Raven walked over to the bed, her iridescent eyes falling on the girl lying there: Her sweet sleeping face, the dark curls pillowing out over the covers; that trademark bit of chalk white hair just visible.

“Anna is so innocent Irene…” Raven said sadly, “In a way I never was and you were never allowed to be. The things you’ve seen for her… they shouldn’t have to happen. I could have stopped it… I failed.”

“No. You did your best. You showed us what we’re working with. Illuminating part of the path, which will make the turns all the clearer.” Irene smiled, “Everything will be as it should be. Have a little faith.”

Raven laughed darkly.

“You have more than enough for both of us.”









The wet gurgles of the Supreme Intelligence closing in around her Monica no longer could bring herself to be afraid of it. Instead she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, a gesture she could see herself giving in return even as it happened.

“And what about you?” She asked allowed, the astral mandibles churning around her coming to a stop, “What is your purpose?” Monica continued, her resolve strengthening as she felt the shock of the creature around her.

“My purpose? Why I don’t have one… Why would I? Why do any of us?”

“Don’t ask me you are the collection of all knowledge are you not?”

“Oh yes…” it hissed “And this is what you get. A monstrous gaping hole to which all things must one day succumb.”

“And then?”

Silence.

“You grew out of us, the collective thoughts of mankind and this is what you became? You claim you are some greater wellspring but you’re just our flotsam and jetsam. The angry ranting of internet trolls furiously jerking off in their momma’s basements. You’re trash.”

“We create God.” Monica said this as well but it didn’t just come from her it came from Carol Danvers, Richard Ryder and even a still running Billy Batson.

For lack of a better word Monica “stood”. Though she had neither body nor anything to stand upon. Nevertheless she rose up and smiled.

“I think therefore I am.” She smiled. The violent thoughts around her colliding in their turmoil as a scream of rage rung out.

The feeling of her mother swiftly smacking her in the back of the neck returned to her but this time she was her mother and this vast creature was the whining child. Even now it was if she could hold it now, in her hands as if it wasn’t some spiraling mass of infinite ideas but instead a misbehaving dog, snapping harmlessly.

“Very good.” The “Wizard’s” voice rung out in the chasm of this astral plane.

Monica ignored this, feeling herself expand to take up the space that this not so supreme intelligence had once inhabited.

It was another voice she was concerned with. Not that of a condescending higher power but that of a young boy in need of help.

“Go to him.” The Wizard muttered.

“How? I’m not real anymore…” Monica asked aghast, her thoughts turning to the pale young English lad cornered in a darkened street.

“Everything is real Monica. You are energy… how does energy get to Earth…?”

Monica heard thunder…










<Holbeck, Leeds, England>



Billy had so disassociated from the world that he hadn’t even registered that his pursuer had caught him never mind was shaking him to within an inch of his life. If only it was the fabled imp he’d been warned about by the grandiose mystic characters he’d rejected no instead it was some wiry tweaker trying to pry his bag out of his tiny arms.

“Boy nobody has time for this.” The man spat as they struggled, “Give it here.”

Billy’s feet no longer touched the ground.

“God damn it lad.” The man hissed as he took hold of his satchel and managed to toss Billy on the cold ground below.

The pain did as it had done before and sent a rush of endorphins through his system bringing a moment of clarity to him. Unlike the all too fleeting respites from before this one seemed to draw out as if in slow motion. He watched as his attacker removed his precious comics from the bag, the anger on his face as he realized there was nothing of worth to him here, then that anger finally turned in his direction and his comics spilling out on the ground as the man moved towards him.

The image of the wizard Shazam was what he focused on, one of his beloved Hoppy comics just out of reach bearing the fabled sorcerer on its cover.

In this kind of situation many people would pray and even someone like Billy, who found religion silly, found himself calling out. He needed help. He had tripped further into circumstances that he had no way to navigate. So he prayed, in his own way.

“Shazam…” He muttered.

The clarity he had been given seemed to expand and other images fought the reality of the world around him for his attention. Carol Danvers helping him to his feet, Richard Ryder putting a steady hand on his shoulder…

“All the help you need is here.” Richard smiled.

“Strength, Courage… a little stamina goes a long way…” Carol mused, “Anything you need. If we have it, it’s yours to use.”

“I need… to be powerful for once in my life.” Billy said but not aloud, in the real world he was still frozen in the man’s grip.

Thunder roared overhead but he could have sworn the dark midnight skies had been cloudless a moment ago.

“Look up.” Richard encouraged.

Billy did so and just as he did a bolt of lightning broke from the firmament, causing his attacker to scream but Billy remained calm as the energy crashed over him.

“Shazam.” He said again, as an acknowledgement.

“Not quite.” Monica answered from within him, pure energy coursing through his veins.

“What if we forget him for a moment?” Richard asked.

“Forget anyone else who wants something from us.” Carol agreed.

“What if we chose each other instead?” Monica asked.

Together they stood back up and Billy realized with muted surprise that he was now taller than the man, who looked up at him in horror.

“Go.” Billy said simply, his voice now as booming as the thunderbolt that had changed him. The man picked himself up and ran into the night. Billy gathered his comics in the span of a thought, reality moving with the speed of a dream.

And for the first time in a long Billy smiled, not because he knew it was the socially acceptable response but because he felt it.

And with that smile, that fire inside, he took to the skies.

Austin, Texas – 1998



Nelle Altman shook as she stood over her children, huddled bemusedly in the closet as they were. She was sweating profusely and even through their fear and bewilderment the young ones could sense something was off about her, he appearance was the same and yet different; it seemed fleeting as if she wore an incredibly lifelike mask of her own face that threatened to tear at any moment.

“Stay here until the police come.” She said in a hurried whisper, looking over her shoulder as she did so.

“What’s going on?” Wally, as he was still called despite their family’s many name changes, her eldest asked desperately.

Turning to face them, Nelle seemed at a loss. She was clearly fighting tears an act that seemed to soften her distorted countenance somewhat.

“I wish…” Her voice faded, “I tried to wait as long as I could. Until you could at least care for yourselves somewhat. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… I wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” This last part seemed to be said mostly to herself, her gaze averting before righting itself again, “I’m not sure any of this will ever make sense to you but know that some part of me love you… all of you: if that ever counts for anything…” Before her voice could crack she silenced herself and without so much as another word she slammed the closet door closed.

At first Wally remained huddled with his two siblings, curling protectively around them but soon… curiousity got the better of him.

“Stay here.” He whispered.

“No! Mom said to wait!” His sister shrieked, grabbing his arm. He shook her off, gently, and taking her arm in his hand laid it on their baby brother’s back.

“Stay here.” He repeated.

As quietly as possible he slunk from the closet, tip-toing through their shared room. He didn’t hear anything alarming, in fact he heard nothing at all.

He made his way down the hall and peaked ever so subtly around the corner, seeing his mother sitting at the kitchen table, deathly still, a strange looking gun gripped tightly in her hand. He clasped a hand over his mouth to suppress a gasp and merely watched.

After what was probably only a few minutes, though it seemed like hours, the front door opened: his father returning from his nightly “activities” as he called them. The man was just as haggard as always, a messy blond beard the fullness about his gaunt, stricken, once quite handsome face. Glorified rags serving as his clothes, now filthy from whatever he had been up to. He plopped down several bags on the counter, barely taking notice of the grim specter his wife made not a few feet from him.

“Welcome home.” She said hoarsely, through gritted teeth no doubt.

He swung towards her and only after a hazy moment did he seem to register the gun. He looked at it for a long time before something dawned on his face.

“Nelle…” his voice was wet and nasal, he seemed to struggle to form words, “You’re not her are you?”

“No.” She answered sadly.

“How long?”

“Since about a year before Teddy was born.” She responded quickly, as if the words hurt her to say aloud.

“Where are the kids? Did you kill them already?” He was quite calm, he didn’t even sound worried.

She laughed, coldy and without any real humor.

“There’s no Hero left anywhere in you… is there?”

“Gods be willing.” He answered proudly staring her down.

She stood and stepped towards him, as she did so her appearance finally gave way: her skin changing hue, her hair becoming darker and a strange yellow luminescence finding its way behind her eyes.

“Before you do this, I have just one thing to say:” The man said pointedly but was cut off by a strange thrumming “zing” which signaled the unearthly weapons discharge, Wally watching in horror as his father fell to the ground dead.

His “mother” or whatever she really was then transformed once more, this time to an African American man; which Wally didn’t even have time to process in his shocked state, and she quickly exited the trailer.

In the intervening years, Wally would look back on this moment and swear that the event continued. He would recall his father standing up once more, impossible he knew, looking cleaner than he had even a moment ago. Wally would swear that without seeing anyone else enter that they were no longer alone: that a young woman, no less pretty for her pale skin and drastic goth attire, stood before her father with an amused smile.

“Finally, I thought you’d never get here…” She said, chucking him under his chin.

“Wait my children…” This time he did sound concerned, his father’s voice brighter and healthier than Wally could ever remember hearing it before.

“You can’t help them now.” This came from an old man, as suddenly present as the woman had been, his beard flowing impossibly long passed his ancient looking robes, “Why bother? You’ve done so little to help anyone after all.”

“Just because I didn’t want to play your games…” His father sighed.

“Well than glad tidings!” The young goth proclaimed giddily, “Any such games are over with now. Forever more.”

His father looked like he wanted to protest but the old man urged him forward, into the woman’s embrace.

“Come now the days of Robert Grayson, Robert Altman… Marvel Boy… The Uranian… whatever you call yourself… are over now. A new Hero will come forward in due time. Perhaps they can do what you, in your ignorance, ran from and achieve true perfection. A new Haven, a new Kree… a world so perfect that maybe even your children, set on the sad wanting path you’ve left for them, can find peace.” The old man said somewhat cruelly as all three seemed to fade into the white light of Wally’s hazy memory. The scene, their discussion and all such events that may, or may not, have occurred only getting more saturated into his memory with every new psychiatrist he told them too.

He always came back to the same conclusion though: That man who called himself their father… he was no Hero, on that he could agree with the old user, no his father was that man who stood up and looked Death in the face. The Hero of the story…




Captain Marvel

#6 – Matthew 19:14






“I’m not mad at him.” Carol sighed, and it was mostly true, the image of the “him” Captain John Jameson filling her mind as she spoke, “I’m mad at myself for being so bitter about it.”

“Go on.” Dr. Sofen urged gently, writing on her notepad as she did so.

“I mean everything the’ve done since the Sentry incident makes sense. I would do the exact same if I was in the Major General’s position. But acknowledging that doesn’t stop the tiny voice in my head that’s screaming, and stamping her tiny little foot like a four year old. The part that looks at this like they’re maliciously taking something away from me I’ve worked for, for so long and so hard, over something that wasn’t my fault.”

“Two things can be true Carol. This situation can be both fair and unfair at the same time. Almost everything in this life that isn’t material, tangible, matter is subjective. Feelings, events, memories… it’s all just a matter of who is telling the story.”

And image of that “Wizard Shazam” appeared in her thoughts unbidden, briefly blocking Jameson’s nigh-trademark smile like an eclipse blocking out the sun.

“So I guess I should just get over it?” Carol asked flippantly.

Dr. Sofen laughed.

“Yes absolutely, so glad we got that out of the way, I guess we’re done here.” She smiled jokingly flipping her writing pad closed.

“Sorry.” Carol sighed.

“No you don’t just “get over it”. You’re feelings are valid even if they may be irrational, and I’m not saying they are,” She cautioned at Carol’s defensive glare, “The point is it doesn’t matter if they are or are not irrational. That’s still how you feel.”

“So what now?”

“Well you say you don’t hate Captain Jameson. What does he make you feel?”

Carol closed her eyes, she once more pictured the young captain but as she tried to assess her own emotions, the thoughts and feelings of the others continuously fed into to ocean of her mind like rivers. One minute she had a metaphorical image of John Jameson crushing the head of her Sentry with a triumphant smirk and the next his features became those of Asian descent, his brown hair becoming longer and black, the Sentry changing to reflect Ancient Egyptian design. Richard Rider defeating the Sphinx.

The feelings of bitterness and violation she felt washed away, replaced with a maternal energy and a sense of pride. She had helped this young man slay his dragon.

“I was once where he is now.” Carol said aloud, referring to both Jameson and Rider, “Young, inexperienced, looking to those who had been there for guidance. Sometimes they would help me but other times… they let their own faults make them bitter at the thought of someone new taking something special away from them. I don’t want to be like that.”

“That’s good…” Karla said happily, sincerely as well, but it was clear there was an incomplete thought on her mind.

“And?”

“Does that then help you forgive those who had let you down in the past?” Karla suggested, “Now that you understand that mentality?”

Carol didn’t know what to say to that, she hadn’t considered them at all in her line of thought. Merely as the cautionary villains in a bad memory. The Doctor was right however, they were people who had reacted to a similar situation in exactly the way she first did.

“I can be… judgmental. My mother always said I was.”

“She said that out of fear.” Monica said in Carol’s head, “Trying to police your behavior before the world did it for her… in more aggressive ways.”

“Everyone is.” Dr. Sofen smiled, “That first negative thought will always come and you just have to let it come, decide if it has real value and then let all those other thoughts follow it, the good, the inquisitive, the selfless.”

The selfless thought would be to wish Jameson well, help him in anyway should could and to stand there at HIS launch with nothing but camaraderie and admiration in her heart.

And deep down she knew; she wasn’t quite there… yet at least.

The time coming to a close as it always did, she smiled and stood, shaking Dr. Sofen’s hand saying something genial she was sure; her thoughts still drifting… literally and figuratively from her mind to the minds of others.

Dr. Sofen could see this drift, in her own analytical way of course but also a bit more seriously as she gently caressed the gemstone around her neck.

As Carol left, the Doctor closed the door and exhaled deeply. The various layers of her personality crashing down around her. She loosed her ivory blouse from her skirt and undid her formal up do letting her corn colored locks fall down around her.

She laughed to herself as she picked up her phone, off-handedly hitting one of the contacts.

“Yeah, it’s me. She left just a moment ago.”

Something the other person said made the doctor prick up her nose in disgust.

“Talk about a woman like that again, ANY woman and I’ll make you eat your scrotum on a shiskabab.” Karla spat, flopping into her desk chair. “Rogg has assigned us certain responsibilities.” The man she was talking to couldn’t possibly see the way her eyes rolled when she said Rogg’s name.

“She’s doubting herself. No doubt that petrified parchment pusher is using that doubt to his advantage, crawling in her skull like a parasite.”

Something the other party said made her laugh quite abruptly.

“Yes I suppose I’m doing the same Lloyd, you’re right for once. The difference is I know this woman in a way no out of touch cosmic force could. A force that choose to present itself as a cisgender white male might I add. Nevermind #notallmen, it’s not like a he was born a man he decided to be one and then march in and tell this proud, formidable woman what she is and who she should be…” She sighed, “I’m gonna stop there, I don’t want to become one of those Tumblr feminists any more than Carol Danvers wants to become a bitter old soldier. That’s not what this is about anyways. I know we can make use of Carol which is after all… what she wants most right now.”









<Holbeck, Leeds, England>



Dudley was a young man again, but in a way he never have been in life. Full 70s flair, glorious hair blown out and aggressively held in place by enough aquanet to hold off the hordes of Hell. As he sauntered down an oversaturated sunlit street with a swagger he had only ever wished to achieve in youth, he knew… deep down… that this wasn’t real.

A part of his fractured mind remembered the “worm”, remembered the memories it awoke as it crawled through his super-ego.

But it was simply more pleasant to focus on the sights and sounds of a life he never lived. The dreams he had clung to and the fantasies he told himself were meant for other, luckier people.

“Luck. Is there any such thing?” The worm’s voice crawled through his fantasy like a serpent in the garden.

As it spoke, with such bile, it seemed images flashed through the sky like lightning on a clear day.

The boy, Billy, the vague foggy memories his broken mind conjured of him flew through the air before fading out again.

“Where is he…?” The voice asked sinisterly, venom dripping from it as it oozed in the very ozone around the now young and studly Dudley.

Dudley was flabbergasted, at once he was both defensive and at a loss. He would never give some innocent child over to this monstrous presence but at the same time it’s not like he even knew where Billy was: so why ask?

“I’m not asking you miserable old nutter.” The voice snapped, “I’m petitioning the aether. I am but one shard of a greater awareness. Broken now, yes, but I need merely tap into your pathetic excuse for “knowledge” and let it connect me to others…. I will find him and then? I will find her. Monica Rambeau sits inside that boy like he’s her suit of armor… I will rend through him like paper to get to her never you doubt that… just as she destroyed me…”

“Why…? Why can’t you just leave them alone…?” Dudley whimpered.

“Once you know everything there is to know life is meaningless, it’s only the hunger that keeps you going… the yearning for more. So…” The voice had been almost vulnerable but as it spoke it gained back its edge, “I think I’ll let you figure that out by yourself.” It snickered cruelly.

“Who are you then?” Dudley spat back, his ire still up even as his voice shook.

“Remember that old quiz show you’d watch when you could afford a telly? The one that made you feel oh so very stupid? You can call me that: Mr. Mind it is then.” The worm said with a voice that would usually accompany a mocking wink.

Before Dudley could question further he was shaken by the sporadic flickering of images in the sky over his 70s fantasy becoming more frequent, like a strobe light, and soon they included more than just his own memories.

“I feel the lure of youth’s succor, even as you did bringing us to this nigh-pornographic vision of a life you never could have had even if you weren’t as barmy as the hatter…” He said as the visions turned to a young black woman, athletic and by the faint voice Dudley heard; American.

They saw her through some lens, as if looking through someone’s eyes.

“I’m not limited… like you…. Even as I am here, another piece has found Maria Rambeau, mother of my quarry. Worried about her daughter… for all the wrong reasons.”

Dudley watched the woman’s memory play out above them, an argument: Maria urging her daughter to quit the force and Monica more or less ignoring the older woman, which (as the emotions Dudley could somehow pick off the images) only made Maria the more aggressive, her daughter’s disregard feeding the part of her brain that told her she was insignificant and unimportant.

Staring into the sky, Dudley nearly ran right into someone.

This was a fantasy though, his fantasy, who else would be here? He looked forward to see a gangly, dirty stripe of a man. Hair in disarray and mangled chainsaw teeth peeking out from his lopsided mouth.

“And as Maria was younger than you, younger still is this fine fellow I found following Billy’s animus through the aether. Had the boy in his grasp he did, until Monica and the others arrived giving the little pike an unfair advantage over old Stan Printwhistle here.”

All around where the man, who could accurately be described as the very stereotype of a junkie, stood was a dank and dark street straight from some after school special, the nightmarish skies around him patched roughly to the bright sunny vision Dudley had conjured. The whole scene was if a tantruming toddler had taped together two torn pages from two very different picture books.

Waves of nausea came over Dudley as his brain tried to process all of this. Printwhitsle for his part seemed resigned, if entirely ignorant, of the fantastical proceedings… whatever drugs fueled him at present were obviously worth whatever he did to get them.

“Please…” He begged, falling to his knees, “I can’t take this…”

“Why not old man? This is exactly what your would-be ward is going through… this hodgepodge of identities and lives blending, new exciting information flooding into his consciousness… You could be just like him. Uncle Marvel? How does that sound….? Like his/their little leutenants. Wouldn’t that be fun? You, Mommy dearest, Stinky Printwhistle and…her.” The worm sighed a wet sigh as the skies now filled with another image… a bloody baby being delivered from its mother, the same baby being place beside the viewer in a hospital basonet.

Even as these images came in the two drastic “scenes” both Dudley and Printwhistle provided shook and fell away as a new figure emerged betwixt them. An angry looking young girl, around Billy’s age, brown hair straight but naturally so, otherwise ungroomed. She wore handymedown clothing, mostly boys’.

“Ah…” Mr. Mind gurgled, “And sister makes four.”









<Long Island, New York>



Richard sat in a chair in one of the smaller, though thankfully single, rooms at Hempstead Hospital, watching himself. There he lay, comatose they said, and yet here he sat. He played back over the events that led him here… the video game showing him Carol Danvers, the Sphinx, the talking tiger… and now astral projection?

Standing vigilantly by his bedside were his parents. His mother weeping, his father stoic but Richard knew that underneath all that Seventh Day Adventist conditioning he felt concern, love and all the rest: his father didn’t have to say it.

“Jeez Louise, who died?” The same old radio commercial voice announced the arrival of its owner Tawky Tawny, “Sorry… too soon?” The tiger winked as it sauntered into the room.

“What have you done to me?” Richard asked both horrified and angry.

“I’ve taught you something kid.” The tiger smiled that same terrifying smile, “showed you more about yourself, what you are and what you can do. A bit drastic? Maybe. But that’s what it’s about at your age no? Learning, growing up! No more kid gloves.”

“Don’t listen to him…” A breathy whisper came from the room’s dark corner, Richard looked over to see a frail old man in silvery robes. The same middle-eastern elder he had seen while he fought the Sphinx, “He’ll lead you astray… he is a shayateen if I ever saw one…” The old man mumbled fearfully.

Tawky Tawny seemed annoyed by their guest, his lips curling into a scowl.

“Another lesson, don’t be taken in by all this “you’re special” nonsense this story is full of just as many losers as it is winners.” The tiger sneered in the old man’s direction. For his part the feeble old man seemed to acknowledge his words, which broke Richard’s heart a little bit.

“You don’t even know him. Hell you fought him.” Tawky scoffed picking up on Richard’s sympathy.

“You did not fight me. You fought yourself.” The old man wheezed.

Tawky growled at this and moved towards the old man.

“Okay you were amusing but now you’re getting into spoiler territory!” He said advancing on the elder, who shrank in response, “not noob friendly at all…” The childish vernacular was contrasted by the tiger’s paws loosing claws that shown in the florescent hospital lighting.

“Stop.” Richard said, voice like thunder.

Tawky turned back to the young man only to see him suddenly in full gleaming Nova regalia.

“I’m trying to help you boy…” He said trying to recapture that air of old English comedy rather than surrealist horror, “The longer the story takes, the longer you have… you don’t want to skip ahead… trust me.”

“I don’t.” Richard said simply, “But… I do not trust him either.” He gestured to the old man, “Do not mistake empathy for trust. I will make up my own mind on what is good for me. For us.” He finished, after images of the other three dancing around him, illuminating his cobalt and gold armor brighter than Tawky could bear for a moment, the impish tiger shielding his eyes with the cuff of his outdated suit.

“Fine.” He growled and turned to leave, vanishing altogether as he did so.

“Now.” Richard said his voice still thunderous but returning to normal after a breath, as did his appearance, “What did you mean… myself?”

“I am void. A cypher. They use me to channel him.” The old man wheezed, “You can feel him can’t you… he’s one of you…”

Richard reached out his astral hand towards the old man, laying it on his shoulder and as he did so the room around them changed, much to his surprise, now finding themselves in a sound stage seemingly recreating the moon landing.

“Where are we?”

“The realm of the Moon.” The old man gasped, “They will eat you alive for witnessing this!”

The elder shook with fear, trying to pull Richard back, but the young man glanced around, curious. He quickly spotted a sarcophagus off to the side. A sarcophogas that was near identical to the “Sphinx” he had fought.

“What… who is in there?” Richard turned back to the old man.

“I will tell you… but you have to promise me something…”

“Is that why you’re helping me?” Richard asked warily, regarding the man with narrowed eyes.

“Yes.” The answer was quick and immediate, no guile.

“What is it?” Richard asked after a moment of thought.

“My children… Find my children before they suffer as others have.” The man near sobbed, “Adrianna and Amon. I know you will do this for me, you are a good young man… You do not deserve this and neither do they!”

“I will do my best, I swear. Now… who is in there?” Richard said meeting the old man’s eyes.

“All of the Heroes have met death…” he whispered glancing over to the ornate coffin, “But not all of them are dead.”









<Burbank, California>



Almost before Heather Douglas made it through the door she was locked in a passionate kiss with her lover Avril. Who had initiated the kiss was not a question they even asked anymore, their minds as linked as two minds could be without such supernatural aid as bore the Hero of the Story that is. It was just instinct, the same one that drew Avril to the door as she became aware Heather was about to walk through it.

They went on for what seemed like hours but was mostly likely just a pure, passionate moment or two. The other woman’s hair wound tight in the bald woman’s aggressive fingers, a stray bite mixed in with the tender caress of lips and tongues: all as secondhand as it was still just as exciting as their first date.

“I take it you had a good day?” Avril jested as they finally parted.

Heather looked at her with a faux betrayed glance, a smile teasing at the corner of her mouth.

“There are no good days. You know that. Stroking that mad man’s ego like Ivanka Trump in a touring company performance of Electra.” Heather laughed, removing her shawl and shoes, before capturing Avril in another embrace. Avril laughed at her girlfriend’s pretentious humor, always being the more low-brow of the two, a fact that seemed to make them all the closer.

“Remember you thought he was perfect for just this reason. Simple-minded, easy to trick… dumb.” Avril said playfully, gently poking her lover’s cheeks in the universal “smile” gesture. Heather laughed despite herself, pushing her hands aside.

“John now insists on only being called Rogg or Yon Rogg. Like it’s his sacred, true name… I made that name up! And he KNOWS it. He’s bought into this whole thing so much farther than I’d ever expected. I figured I would manipulate him into thinking he was manipulating me… now? I’m not even sure how but he’s completely fallen for the whole charade. I never thought I’d say this about a man but… he may be TOO dumb.”

“Poor baby.” Avril faux-pouted.

“You wound me with your callousness young miss.” Heather said dramatically, hand to her chest, before smiling, “I’m going to shower this day off me… then perhaps you can do your level best to get me dirty again.” She winked, stealing one more kiss from Avril before absconding from the room.

Avril smiled after her than, as soon as she was sure she was gone, ran to her laptop.

“Wally you still there?” She hissed.

“Sadly,” The voice… the voice of Rick Jones’ Lawson, groaned.

“You love it.” Avril smirked.

“Don’t be gross sis.” Wally/Lawson said snidely.

“Right, right all business today. I’ll see what I can get out of her, she’s in a good mood at least so that’s something. I’ll report back as soon as I’m alone.”

“Thank you.” Lawson said, his voice kinder, “Be careful.”

“I will. How’s our little brother?”

“Teddy is fine.” Lawson’s voice became cold again, stressing the boy’s name, “Our HALF-brother is not problematic which is considerate of him considering what he is.”

“What he is, is family.” Avril rolled her eyes.

“Through no fault of our own.”

“Wally…” Avril groaned.

“You know how I feel about this. It’s not going to change. I respect his right to thrive, I appreciate him more often than not but love is not necessitated by a familial connection because at the end of the day it remains that the man who housed the power that birthed us went on to father him with the monster who killed our mother… and somehow that doesn’t really endear him to me.”

“Okay I’ve got to go.” Avril sighed.

“No, I’m sorry…” The electronic voice sighed, “I’ll keep trying but in the meantime remember why we are doing this.” Lawson said firmly.

“To get our inheritance, I know. To do what dad couldn’t.” She sighed looking up to a picture of her and Heather together, the night they met, an ounce of shame and regret dripping into her face and in her voice: “To make a perfect world.”

“That’s right.” Lawson said with absolute conviction, “No matter the cost.”