.|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED ---X------------------------------------------------------------------------- '|` PRESENTS DVANDOM FORCE #47 XXXX XXXX ######### XXXX XXXX ############# XXXX XXXX ##### ##### XXXX XXXX ### ##### XXXXXXX ____ ___ ___ _____ ##### XXXX #### |___) | | |___ | ##### XXXXXXX #### | | | | | ##### XXXX XXXX | `___' ___' | ##### XXXX XXXX ____ __ ___ _____ ___ ##### # XXX XXXX |__ |_\ | | | | ##### ### X XXXX | | \ | | | | ############### XXXX | | \ `___ | `___' ############### copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen ============================================================================= [cover shows the Earth being crushed slowly by a pair of robotic hands, which themselves are cracking slightly under the strain.] ============================================================================= John Smith had never been a particularly exciting or adventurous person, and that fact was a constant source of minor annoyance to him. Even his name was bland and pedestrian. He majored in Business at college. A nice, safe, COMMON course of study. He found a job in sales at an average sized company after a not-too-long period of jobhunting. His worst brush with the law had been getting nailed at a sobriety checkpoint on New Year's Eve a few years back. One brother, no sisters, Dad had worked and Mom stayed at home...no serious family problems. To put it plainly, well...they didn't get more "plainly" than John. He didn't even have an eccentric friend from school to talk about at parties. It wasn't his fault, really. In the Looniverse you only become interesting if you enter a storyline somehow. Otherwise, even the oddballs are portioned out neatly and statistically in the right amounts to keep society "normal." And for a non-powered person, entering a storyline generally meant a long hospital stay or worse. Still, many considered it to be worth it. Despite the insane levels of danger, people still lived and worked near net.hero bases. Not always the same people who had lived there before the heroes moved in, mind you. The blocks around any major base for net.heroes tended to be full of wannabe weirdos who just lurked about waiting for the story to need some interesting local color. Normally John thought of these jaded thrillseekers with the mild disdain that was perfectly...normal. But today he'd turned thirty. Thirty years old and he'd never done anything worth speaking of. So some crazy urge made him go hang around the Dvandom Force HQ downtown. He told himself it wasn't that crazy, this particular group hadn't been attacked at home yet. And they spent much of their time outside of reality anyway, right? It was really only a token gesture on his part, a wistful longing for a slightly more interesting life. Right now, as a giant robotic spider tore open the roof of a deep underground cavern he suddenly found himself in, John had two very normal, average reactions to his situation. The first was to remember the quote, "Be careful what you wish for." The second was to run away as fast as he possibly could. Unfortunately, there wasn't really anywhere to run...but he was certainly making much better time than his corporate-life-softened body normally would. He chalked it up to massive doses of fear and the fact that there was a very strong impetus, namely laser blasts, to move. But when he actually *dodged* a laser blast he nearly tripped in surprise. Then he looked at his hands...his arms. Muscular arms, powerful hands. Not his verging-on-carpal-tunnel-syndrome wrists, but fairly thick athlete's wrists. Without even thinking, he threw himself sideways as an armored trooper of some kind landed next to him and tried to capture him. It hit him. His life had been boring...but now he was stuck into someone else's life! This was not his body, not his combat reflexes...certainly not his fight. But he doubted he could convince these guys of that. Running to duck behind some debris for cover from the running firefight, he wished he had a weapon of some sort. Looking around, he saw men and women wearing jumpsuits like the one he now wore tapping their chests and being covered in armor. Those who weren't being cut down like chaff, that is. Nothing to do but do it, right? He reached up and started to tap his chest. Then a brilliant light flared out and everything...stopped.... * * * * "Welcome home, brother!" sneered a voice somewhere below Richard and to the left. He opened his eyes a crack, wincing as the light sent a sharp pain through his skull. "Oh, apologies," mocked the voice. "I'm afraid my men were a little overzealous in stunning you, brother. I'm told the sensation on regaining consciousness is similar to a hangover...making me wonder how my troops have been getting hung over, but that's not your concern." "DeFacto V," Richard spat. It was about all he could do, as his arms and legs felt bound in some kind of time-stasis field. Not the limbs themselves, of course, or he'd have died of blood blockage. But the air around his body would not...could not move. "DeFacto V, actually. You're mispronouncing it." "What? This is a text-based reality. Nobody *pronounces* anything!" "Well, Fan.Boy did before I killed him. Your point is otherwise taken, brother. Still, it's obvious from the way you...typed...it that you think the V is a Roman Numeral, that I've undergone four upgrades since we first and last met. I'm afraid I'm going to have to disabuse you of that notion." "Why?" "Because a victim who knows a little suffers much more acutely than a totally ignorant one. And since banishing you to the timestream wasn't good enough, I'm going to have to think of something else. But first it is vitally important I impress upon you the hopelessness of your plight." Richard could now see clearly and watched as DeFacto strolled across his field of view, looking at something above Richard on the wall. "First, the V is the letter V, pronounced 'vee.' I didn't stop improving myself until the *twenty-second* iteration. I am vastly more powerful than the being who casually tossed you aside eighty two years ago, vastly more sophisticated. You haven't a prayer against me. "Secondly, to answer a question I'm sure has haunted you, yes I took your power into myself. The ability you have...sorry, *had*...to reverse corruption as well as cause it was vitally important in my quest to create an orderly world. Which I have done, save for a few rebels which I have now co-opted. "Third, and most important, I *let* your little time travel mission succeed. Did you think you could possibly hide your presence from my notice for five years? Never forget that I am to an extent you, I knew that should you ever return you would first look to the Gradgnomes for help. But *I'm* their thesis advisor, they work for ME now. Everything they did for you, they also reported to me. By the way, thank you so much for rapidly improving the state of the art in Robo technology, it helped me conquer the fifty-third century with ease. I also had them drain your actuator, your Cyclo-heart can no longer be activated. "You see, I *remembered* the smallest details of my origin. Being a robotic being now, I cannot forget them! I knew that your mission would be a total failure, that the incomplete memories of your agent would encourage Sig.Lad to seek a cure in Kopikat's nanovirus. For THREE YEARS I endured the chaos your rebels brewed, letting you have relatively free reign so that you could send your agent and complete the circle. Now that the natural order has been assured, your rebellion has become superfluous and can be dismantled. Those who will serve me will make fine additions to my troops at the many fronts across time. Those who won't will be removed. Simplicity. Order. Now I leave you to get acquainted with the others in my 'Family Room.'" DeFacto V left with a short chuckle, and a long moment after the door shut behind him, Richard felt he could move again. He turned and saw he was standing on a short pedestal of some sort mounted against the wall, like a trophy on DeFacto's mantle. "About &()*$ing time that $#!+head let us loose!" came a voice from above. Richard looked up to see a quartet of unfamiliar figures. Wait, no...not totally unfamiliar. DeFacto had called his his "Family Room," so that made these.... "The Net.astic Nine...well, four of us anyway..." said an older man, forty-something and starting to grey on top. "You look astoundingly like DeFacto V, are you his brother as he said?" "In a twisted, convoluted manner involving clones and time travel, I suppose I am [go read Constellation #13 for more details, if you think I'm summarizing them all on-panel you're crazy - Ed.]. Which makes you my father, Mr. Thingy." "What?!" exclaimed a rather surprised Fred Franklins, while his wife Flo looked shocked. Bob "The Thingy" Grunion's expression was unreable as usual. Jack Flame, the Walking Argument, was the first to speak. However, none of it was printable, so we'll skip over him. Richard scowled. "I suppose he decided it wasn't something you needed to know yet. Or maybe he figured it would be more painful to hear it from someone else. He and I are both versions of Richard Franklins, your son." Better get it all out at once, Richard decided. "And the cure he was talking about was the cure to the Super-Molder Serum you injected us with as a child, and which was slowly killing him, having already corrupted me and driven me mad some time back." The room fell silent...even Jack didn't say a word. * * * * In the interrogation rooms of the LNHQ, Sifter teams were having their busiest and most interesting day in a long time. Almost a hundred rebels of Dvandomforce had been captured alive, and now was the time to sift through their brains for all they knew. Certainly, Lord DeFacto knew most of their most precious secrets already from his spies, but the technicians were to ferret out the last juicy bits he may have missed. Completeness was their motto. Everything known, all things catalogued in their proper place. It was also interesting because of the caliber of subjects the techs had to work on. Normally they were ferreting out some dark secret from a normal citizen who had about as much will and backbone as a jellyfish. It was like harvesting fruit from a bush, just pluck what you want and file it away. But the rebels were of a sterner make, being perhaps some of the strongest wills on the planet aside from the ruling elite. The fact that they had systems built into their cybernetic implants to erase their minds if Scanned made it even more interesting. Of course, they knew about these implants and knew how to bypass them, but it was still tricky work. More like harvesting fruit that's been welded to the bush and planted in a minefield. Some techs were almost sorry to see the rebellion quashed, since it meant the end of interesting subjects. But they knew better than to voice such opinions. Still, even on a day of major challenges and surprises, there's the occasional case that stands out. "Sir!" called out a mid-level tech. "Please attend. This subject is quite unusual." The head Sifter walked calmly over to his subordinate. "Yes, in what way?" "He has detailed memories of the previous century." "So? Most of these rebels do. Between illegal vids and chaotic storytelling, they know more about the last century than they do about this one!" he snorted. The past was something to be learned then filed, not dwelt on. "No, I mean *memories*. Vivid memories of having lived his life out from the years 1965 to 1995. In fact, with the exception of a short piece of confusion right before his capture, he thinks he lives in 1995." "Perhaps the shock of seeing his world crumble induced a psychotic break with reality. Records show this to be Shane Boxer, born 2058. I will assign him to a Sifter skilled in dealing with psychotics, move on to your next assignment." "But he shows no gross signs of psychosis, sir!" "Dispute my judgement again and you may find yourself sifted, mister. You are not an expert in these matters, please follow the order." "As you recommend, sir." The head Sifter paused to ponder his situation for a moment. What his subordinate had not known was that the time travel experiment the rebels had been conducting had in fact succeeded. Most of the rebels were convinced that if they still existed it would have failed, so their memories indicated a failure. Unfortunately, even the head Sifter wasn't considered one who needed to know all the details. Such as which of the rebels had supposedly been sent back in time. But if this Shane Boxer were the subject, it would explain much. The rebel device must not have simply put the rebel's mind in that of someone in the past, it must have switched the two. Although no temporal theorist, the head Sifter knew enough to conjecture that the rebel's mind had been incompletely sent...it was the best explanation for why the mission had not eliminated this future. Transmitting data back in time violates causality and is therefore a much trickier task. Transmitting it forward was a much easier job. And judging from these readouts, not only did this "John Smith" have his entire set of memories placed in Shane Boxer's body, he also retained certain basic mental patterns of the rebel's, such as the combat skills which allowed him to last until the end of the fight without taking laser burns. Yes...thought the Sifter...this is excellent! A man who knows nothing of this time, yet craves a more exciting life and already possesses great powers and skills! He would be easily manipulated into joining the Special Group, or perhaps even the Time Troops. Lord DeFacto would be quite pleased.... * * * * "And there you have it." Richard, formerly Acton Lord, finished relating his origin story and how he came to be in 2077 to these people who he still didn't really feel to be his family. His memories did not extend back to childhood, and it pained him to see the expression of motherly care on the !Visible Woman's face when she looked at him. Mr. Thingy pondered for a moment. "If, as you say, a cosmic being of some sort bonded with Sig.Lad in the moment of his transformation, this would go a long way towards explaining our past encounters with the time tyrant. "Our first battle against him was in the 33rd Century, where he was nearly godlike. Even with our full membership and the local armada we didn't have a chance against his vast personal might. But he had one weakness...his obsession with order and productivity. I managed to convince him that no matter his power he could never organize the anarchic and hedonistic society of that time, and he left. I never *could* figure out how an anarchic and hedonistic society could build and maintain an armada. "Our later battles always had him at the head of an army of mechanoids or battlesuited men. His personal power waxed and waned, sometimes a single blow from Bob here could stagger him, other times he could ignore disintegrator beams. We haven't always beaten him, but it's been much easier to disable his armies and make him withdraw than it was to fight him off that first time. "So if he has the support of a rather single-minded cosmic being, his power would vary depending on how much attention that being is giving him. Fortunately, the more he taps this power, the more one-dimensional his drive becomes, and the easier it is for him to be tricked." Richard nodded. "That does make sense. After all, if he single-handedly slew the entire LNH in one day, what would he need his Black Widow Robo for? Perhaps the disorderliness generated by the paradox of his origin is weakening him." "We can only hope. Could the power he took from you be responsible for this?" "I doubt it. The corruption force, along with the sig.force he originally tapped, is not a conscious being. More a mindless force of nature, although it can drive one a bit mad. I have an idea who it might be, but I'd rather not voice it lest this room be monitored." "Agreed. But monitored or not, we have to escape before we can do anything." Richard tapped his Series Eight Cyclo-heart experimentally. "Nothing. He was telling the truth about that, at least. Has he drained your powers as well?" "I have no powers, but he did remove all my devices and tools. The walls and door have resisted Bob's punches, Jack's flames and Flo's !visible forcefield assaults. I think he enjoys letting us have full power yet being unable to get free." In the background, Jack fumed as he nodded. "I've got an idea, but we'll need one of you to display a really obscure, oft-forgotten power you don't normally use in order to make it work. DeFacto may not have known about it to negate it," noted Richard. "Wahl, mah pow'r ta summon Grunions ain't gonna be p'ticularly useful, ain't used it since Net.astic Nine #24, 'Thingy in Theattle,'" admitted Bob. "I can suck the flames right out of a thread, but there's no ^*(&(*&^ing flamewars here," growsed Jack. "I can turn my eyelids inside out without using my hands," pitched in Mr. Thingy. "EWWWWW. Save that for a last resort, okay?" pleaded Richard. "Flo?" "Hm? Oh, sorry, I'm just not used to being in the foreground much. Well, I can make !visible things visible." "Sounds like a plan. Any bugs in here must be non-visible, so if you use that power we can see them all and trash them to cover our next move." Flo Flame-Franklins, the !Visible Woman, concentrated and three small objects popped into view. About a tenth of a second later, Jack had flamed them out of existence. "Okay! We've got a few minutes before someone comes to fix them, if we're lucky and the plot requires we escape. Mr. Thingy," Richard pulled off his shirt and revealed the rather Kirbian panels on his chest, "could you rig a power accumulator out of some of the spares in my implant?" "Yes, I think so...if I cross this wire into this vacuum tube...what's a vacuum tube doing in 21st century technology? Never mind...and adjust this coil here...I assume you wish it to collect flames?" "Yes. Done?" "Indeed. Jack, let him have it, but be careful not to overwhelm him, these connections are only improvised." Mr. Thingy then stepped back as the Walking Argument unleashed a gout of flame. "What the %^*$ you doin', saying the *^&$ing Mekton Zeta's out, you $#!+? I oughtta stuff yer *)&&*#% spleen up yer *(^&@& ~*&^&(*@$(!*( }(# left nostril!" Richard staggered back. "Whoa, you can stop now...my actuator's got enough charge for one shot." While the panel zooms in on Richard reaching up to touch the disc over his heart, Flo can be seen in the background telling Jack that it's 2077, Mekton Zeta's *probably* out by now. "DVANDOMFORCE!" A stunning multi-panel computer-colored transformation took place, with armor literally growing out of Richard "Eagle" Franklin's skin and covering his entire body. After a quick glance to make sure there was enough clearance in the high-ceilinged room, he cried out again. "PROJECTOR!" Planes of force flew around him and intersected rapidly and colorfully, forming a giant Robo around him as his real body thrusted up into the air. In seconds, where Eagle had once stood, was now.... Iron Eagle. "I started to suspect my Gradgnomes of leaking secrets when it got *too* easy to hit certain targets. So while DeFacto V knew I had an implant, he knew nothing of the Projector technology that I developed without the help of the gnomes. He must have thought I needed a RoboVector to be a serious threat, which is why he didn't pull my implant entirely. He had to know I'd recharge it." "And most likely wanted you to, so that you could struggle futilely against that door like the rest of us," added Mr. Thingy. Iron Eagle extended a sword from his hand. "Let's see how well these systems work!" * * * * The door had fallen easily, and with DeFacto V apparently gone into the future again there was little resistance in getting out of the LNHQ. On the way out the Net.astic Nine and Iron Eagle freed as many of the rebel captives as they could, but speed was of the essence. However, the ones they freed freed others still and so on...in the resulting chaos it was simple enough to steal a flier and get out of Net.ropia. Inside the flier, Richard was doing his best to repair systems cannibalized by Mr. Thingy. If they ran into real opposition he had to be at peak performance. "Where, er, whar to?" asked Bob, the team's pilot, his speech pattern slipping for a moment. "Head for the Rock.net Mountains. The art of the double-bluff...I really *do* have an Eyrie in the mountains. No one but I knows about it, so hopefully DeFacto doesn't either. If we have time, we might be able to come up with a plan and execute it." "Hokay...whoah thar! We gots bogies! Looks like time's run out, Iron Eagle!" shouted Bob as he initiated some evasive maneuvers. The craft was unarmed, built more for speed than combat. "Everyone hold on, I'm going to have to depressurize this cabin to get out! Opening door...NOW!" As he was blown out the door by the rush of air [yes, I know pressurized cabins have doors that can't open outward. It's a plot convenience. Hey, I coulda given it an airlock, smarty-pants. - Ed.] Richard caught a glimpse of the "bogies." Joe and Cobra, the two best pilots the Special Group had to offer. Fast enough that even without cybernetic controls like those used by the Dvandomforcers they could make their transforming Robos react like part of their own body. But Richard's Robo WAS his body. He touched his chest. "DVANDOMFORCE! PROJECTOR! TRANSFORM!" /insert cool armoring up and projecting scene here/ Iron Eagle folded over in half and wings grew from his back, thusters formed, a cockpit extruded and his physical body was swept up into it. The skies had not seen the like of his vehicle form for eight decades...the Loonites States fighter plane known as the Eagle. Almost-undisputed master of the skies when it had been a mere construct of matter powered by organic fuel, Richard had taken this as inspiration in designing his own form. But where the old Eagle was aluminum and steel, he was forcefields. Where it burned alcohol, he burned the neutrinos that space itself was soaked in. And it reacted at the speed of thought. "Let's rumble!" he muttered to himself. * * * * It wasn't even a contest. Joe split off to deal with Iron Eagle, overconfidently leaving the flier to his partner. Although unarmed...a force field construct tends not to carry weapons other than hand-to-hand...Iron Eagle had Joe out of the skies in seconds, ramming the SG and doing major damage to his RoboJet's control surfaces. Cobra broke off from the wildly-bobbing flier bearing the Net.astic Nine and cautiously engaged Iron Eagle. He knew better now, and wouldn't let his foe near enough to ram. His flesh screamed its agony as he took a 12G turn to put him above the rebel leader, but it was worth it. Fiery death rained down on Iron Eagle and even pierced his fields in several places. Another turn, only 6G this time, kept Cobra's strafing run from bringing him within the enemy's range. He smiled under his helmet...if the hotshot had any weapons, he'd have tried to use them by now. He fell back into Iron Eagle's blindspot and readied a field-buster missile used against hard targets. He flipped up the firing stud cover and started to push down. Then his instruments all went red, flashing warning signals and switching to backup power! Quickly, professionally, Cobra checked his telltales. The Neutrino Sieve was still operational, but it wasn't getting enough power to keep him in the air! But how? As he started to plummet, he realized how. A forcefield bubble must have been projected, cutting off the ambient neutrino flow. He savagely twisted to the side, hoping to escape the bubble. He felt a slight jar as he pierced the weak forcefield and grinned as his power levels came up to full. He stopped grinning when he looked up and saw Iron Eagle right above him. Then Iron Eagle dropped down. CRUNCH. Cobra hoped he'd survive the ejection...he owed this rebel some serious payback.... * * * * The stillness of the high Rock.net Mountains was broken by the arrival of people on one of the peaks that normally was left to itself. Stony, arrogant peaks, denying mankind a comfortable grip in the best of times, they reluctantly gave refuge to at least one small group today. Inside, the air was stale and dry, but warm. Supplies remained where Richard had left them. Now all he and the others had to do was put the supplies to good use before DeFacto or his forces decided to raze the mountain. "So, what's the plan?" asked The Thingy, having somehow found a piece of beef jerky which now hung out of the corner of his mouth like it belonged there. Ever since he'd given up smoking smelly stogies he'd chawed on beef jerky at every opportunity...his friends weren't sure which habit was more annoying. "Well, ideally we go back in time and do what my original plan failed to do. Prevent Sig.Lad from becoming DeFacto. But DeFacto's nearly the absolute master of time in this era...if it were possible to travel physically back in time I would have done that instead of the psychic time travel we used," pointed out Richard. Mr. Thingy looked up from a small spring he was scrutinizing as if it held the secrets of the universe. "I've got an idea about that...." ============================================================================= NEXT ISSUE: Action and shocks again (sorry, the exposition hadda go SOMEWHERE, and this issue got it) as Mr. Thingy puts his idea into practice and the endgame of X-Post Facto claims the life of a Richard Franklins! But which one? The damn guy comes in six-packs, I swear! All this, and Dvandom Force's membership will never be the same again! And maybe I'll remember Sidewinder for once!