.|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED ---X------------------------------------------------------------------------- '|` PRESENTS DVANDOM | -. -. -. | ________| ____ \ ,___ \ ____ \ ________| | .' \ | | / ` | | | | | | | / ___| | | | | ` / | | __| | | < | __| | | | ,--- \ \ | | | \ | | \ ` | | | / | \ / | ___| _______-' ___| ____\ -______-' ____________| #49 - "After The Fact" copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen ============================================================================= [Cover is split into four sections. The first three contain reproductions of the covers for #46-48. The lower right hand quarter is the medallion form of the LNH insignia with a domino- mask-shaped shadow falling across it.] ============================================================================= "Three days ago, Sig.Lad died," typed a pair of gloved hands. Then the typist backspaced over the last two words and corrected them. "Three days ago, I killed Sig.Lad." Squidman paused and then continued. "Since then I've seen half the team leave for one reason or another and have become the leader. The LNH has been informed of the circumstances and briefed by Iron Eagle as to what could have happened, but many still rightly resent my actions. I didn't know at the time what would happen if Sig.Lad were to succumb to Master Workload's powers...I only knew it would be bad. Something deep inside me said a world would die if I didn't act. I hoped that the arrow would only damage Sig.Lad's containment suit enough that he could escape, but I knew the AtomiCheeez arrow would probably kill him. "Why don't I feel guilty about what I did? Has dying and returning from the dead made me insensitive to the deaths of others? Or have I worked so hard to become the decisive superhero that I've left my humanity behind me in the process? I do know that before I can deal with the rest of the LNH, I have to deal with myself." Squidman closed the file and turned off the computer. Maybe a workout would help loosen up his thoughts, shake something out. He stood and grabbed his cowl from the desk of his room before exiting and turning out the light. In the darkness a dimly glowing wisp of what seemed to be smoke reached out towards the terminal.... * * * * Anyone who didn't know better would think Kat wasn't doing anything. Of course, such a person would also wonder why she was holding five phone cords in her hand. Squidman did know better. "How're the arrangements for the...service... going?" he asked. Kopikat split her attention a sixth direction to talk to him, leaving the rest of her mind occupied talking to various people on the phone. "Well, I ruled out religious institutions immediately," Squidman nodded at this. While of a mystical bent, Sig.Lad had never really embraced any of the world's popular religions. "Also anything in a heavily populated area. After reading about Lost Cause Boy's funeral I decided I'd rather not risk any kind of sneak attack killing too many people. Right now the best option looks like the Talk.esha County Expo Center, although it's a little close to some of the newer suburban sprawl...the insurance people are having fits." "Try to get that one if you can. He may not have remembered it himself, but during one period when the Net.astic Nine were disbanded from bankrupcy, the Franklins lived in Talk.esha, trying to establish some kind of normal life. It would be somewhat fitting." "Gotcha. Oh, and any way we can make sure Self-Righteous Preacher doesn't attend?" "Not without exiling him to another dimension or something like that. Don't worry, he may be there, but he's not going to deliver a eulogy or sermon. Preacher didn't care for anyone who associated with you too closely...or with Panta. Or...well, half the Legion. Wonder if Doctor Stomper could explain how it is that Self-Righteous Preacher is still in the Legion?" "Probably something to do with writers wanting a whipping-boy, I'd guess. Well, I need to concentrate on these other calls for a while. Oh, could you take out the kitchen trash? It's getting a bit overfull and we don't exactly have a butler." "Sure, I'll drop it in the chute on my way to the gym." Squidman left the room, noting that Kat hardly seemed bothered by Sig.Lad's death. Of course, she had a lot of experience with coping with the loss of friends...and even more experience at denial. Maybe she also took the attitude that Iron Eagle was a sort of replacement. Or whatever he ends up calling himself, that is. He couldn't call himself Acton Lord now, that was certain. And he didn't want to keep using a name taken from someone still alive in this time...a Writer, no less. Nor could he call himself Sig.Lad, he didn't have the Sig.Force nor was he terribly interested in taking that name. Right now he had holed up in Bludwulf's rooftop quarters and was working on a replacement for the now less-than-useful CheeeZeppelin. Reaching the kitchen, Squidman pulled the plastic trashbag out of the can and lifted it up, only to have it burst and scatter its contents across the floor. Cursing under his mask, he started picking up the garbage, noticing what had caused the break in the first place. It was a copy of Pengwyn #1, the Image book the Penguin of Goon had gone off to star in the other day. They certainly were getting better at meeting deadlines, he noted. Of course, the chobham-style armorplate cover enhancement was a tad on the stupid side, and had been what made the bag break. He made a mental note to find who bought the comic and warn them about proper disposal of hazardous waste, setting the thick tome aside for later. Something in the remaining garbage caught his eye. It was a pizza box, probably the one Sidewinder had brought back the day...Sig.Lad died. He'd certainly gone pretty far out for pizza...Squidman couldn't recall ever hearing of Bunzai Pizza before. Bundling up the waste, he dropped it in the chute, where it fell down into the dumpsters outside. * * * * Even in late spring it was cold in northern Ca.net.da. And Buffer Island's tundras were especially cold thanks to the kink in the jet stream which was making O.hi.o colder than Fair.biz Alt.laska. Few people called this grey and unpleasant land home and even fewer visited for pleasure. Of course, DeFacto and his minions were not there for pleasure, they were there to hide out and recover. The inhospitability of Buffer Island meant less people around to possibly see them and bring down interfering net.heroes. And to beings comfortable at altitudes of thousands of meters the winds did not bite particularly deeply. Dug into the side of a hill with camoflage netting strung overhead, a strange trio saw to their repairs after a pitched battle. Steelwind and Darkheart had repaired all but the most cosmetic damage they had sustained, but their leader was engaged in far more than routine repairs. It was obvious that he was completely overhauling his robotic form, and given his insane determination, he was almost done with the job. What had once been a gigantic spider now resembled some sort of huge lizard, or perhaps dinosaur. Steelwind broke the relative silence. "So, what do we do now, boss? You haven't said much since the battle...how bad off *are* we?" "Our future is denied us, how much worse can it get?" snarled the humanoid form attached to the neck of the lizard. "However, it's not a total loss. Thanks to the vagaries of alternate timelines, our future still exists in some dimension. The trick is to find a way into the right future, which means both time travel and dimension travel are needed." "Can't you do that yourself? I mean, you built time machines to send the Temporal Army to different eras," noted Darkheart. "Unfortunately, no. Those devices only aided in the use of powers granted to me by Master Workload. Without his aid to empower them, they are large piles of abstract art. However, should we find *any* alternate method of time travel, that technology should act as a booster like it always has. I may even be able to modify it to amplify a dimension-rending effect should we find any here. The general level of technology may be primitive compared to what you're used to, but the extreme leading edge was perhaps even farther ahead of ours, thanks to hundreds of insane geniuses. In fact, the LNH should have one of my father's Time.thingies in their headquarters now, since it was recreated as part of the attempt to cure me before I ascended to my current form." "So, we're going to take on the entire LNH?" asked Steelwind, somewhat skeptically. Just a small subset had proven slightly dangerous, and they didn't even have any of the "cosmic" heroes he'd heard of. "No, without the power of Master Workload behind me, even our great might wouldn't be enough to ensure victory. If nothing else, they could hold us off long enough to destroy the Time.thingy and all records of how to make it. But we will have a chance soon enough...Sig.Lad was one of the more prominent members of the LNH, his funeral will probably be attended by most if not all of the LNH. With only minor resistance, I should be able to get the device with a minimum of trouble." "What about us? And with you stuck on your RoboVector, how will you get inside without bringing down the entire LNHQ?" inquired Darkheart. "You will provide a diversion, to draw away any LNHers who may have remained behind. And don't worry, I've taken that problem into account. I may need to stay attached to this huge frame in order to maintain all of my memory systems now, but that doesn't prevent me from creating remote units." With that, the partly-completed Robo shifted forms until there stood a powerfully built humanoid protruding through the camo netting. "Nice form," commented Steelwind. "What's the buttbag for?" Indeed, around the waist of the robot was what for all the world looked like a buttbag or "fanny pack." "This is where my remote units are stored until needed. I call them my Rear Guard," he said as two rectangular slabs of metal sprang toast-like from the compartment. The slabs quickly transformed into a lion and a condor. "Powerful scavengers to do my more delicate tasks for me. They are incomplete as yet, as are the weapon systems on this form, but all will be in readiness before the funeral services." "Ahem," came a voice from outside the netting. A human voice. Steelwind tore the netting away and fired his plasma gun at the source of the sound. It responded by holding up a simple piece of paper. The plasma rolled off the paper like water from a well-waxed car [Ha! Bet you thought I was gonna say like water off a duck's back? Well, why a duck? - Ed.]. "If you are quite finished," started the mousy little man, "I am here to deliver a restraining order on behalf of my client, the semi-cosmic being known as DeFacto, to cease and desist violation of his trademarks in this era." He proffered the restraining order to De Facto V. "The great DeFacto V is not bound by your archaic laws, little man," sneered Steelwind, trying to figure out how to neutralize the defensive screen the man seemed to have. "Leave or die." "I will leave once the injuction has been served, sir. And no power in this Looniverse can keep me from doing so." "Hold off, Steelwind. I am familiar with this breed, the Lethal Lawyers. I would not take them on as foes right now...I'm sure a compromise can be reached, yes? Exactly what are the terms of the injunction?" asked the former time tyrant. "Standard character-likeness trademark usage look-and-feel order. You may not use any close variation of the name DeFacto in advance publicity, merchandizing or on the covers of any issue. Nor may you assume a form substantially similar to my client's own using your shapeshifting powers." "Other than that, however, I may continue to use the name DeFacto V within actual stories, so long as the other terms are not violated?" "Certainly, although lack of a usable tradename will only hurt your sales," replied the Lethal Lawyer. "In that case, I agree to abide by the terms of the injunction. Until such time as I have the power to...negotiate more favorable terms, I will refrain from use of the name DeFacto V on covers and in advance literature. I do have an alternate trade name prepared, if you would be so kind as to register it for me?" "Certainly, with the proviso that it not be one already registered to another party, and I accept no liability in the event it proves to be so." The Lethal Lawyer handed DeFacto V the slip of paper and continued, "Your new trademark would be?" Casting aside the remnants of the camoflage netting, DeFacto V struck an appropriately dramatic suitable-for-splash-page pose and said (in proper logo not reproducible in ASCII), "NECROSAUR!" The Lethal Lawyer nodded. "I believe you are mixing your Greek and Latin roots, but that never stopped a Trademark from being valid before. My card, contact me if you need the services of my office." With that, the Lethal Lawyer disappeared into LoopholeSpace. "I think I could have killed him after he gave up that piece of paper," fumed Steelwind. "Perhaps, although it would not have been a good idea. The Lethal Lawyers, whatever their other failings, are a force of Order and Productivity in their own way, and I may need to have them as allies on the path to regaining absolute power. After that, though, they will be crushed like I crushed them the first time...back in the RIGHT future." The tundra echoed with ominous laughter. * * * * At the back of the building housing the Dvandom Force HQ is an alley where service deliveries and trash pickups are made. Of course, there's also usually three or four reporters from Tabloid TV "news" shows lurking around as well, hoping someone throws out an incriminating piece of evidence. Currently there was no one in the alley...the garbage collectors tended to find excuses not to go into the Net.Hero part of town very often and the dumpster was starting to overflow. But aside from some minor littering, nothing much was happening down here. Yet. A few blocks away, though, something *was* happening. A rather large figure wearing a molded beige plastic outfit and with 16-pin connectors replacing his middle fingers was chasing an ambulatory greaseball down another alley. In its cartoony hands the little thing was grasping really cheap magazine subscription cards and handbills for the lowest international phone rates in the world. "Come back here you little Bisz! I am the VAXX! You cannot escape me! I am strong! I am fast! I am getting really sick of this chase!" For its part, the Bisz's mind was reeling with fear. It had very little mind to begin with, of course, but it wasn't expecting to be attacked by a large insane sysadmin today. Its master, Mr. Gain, had sent it to Sig.Ago because the Order of St. Doomas seemed preoccupied with Net.ropolis. Here it could spread its alloted spam without fear of reprisal. But it hadn't reckoned with the VAXX. Protector of overburdened and obsolete systems everywhere (well, within walking distance), the VAXX could see Biszes for the little scumballs they were, and he cancelled them without mercy. And without much sanity either, but that was his personal problem. Finally, out behind the Dvandom Force building (yes, there was a reason for starting the scene there), the VAXX caught up with the Bisz and slammed it up against a full dumpster, covering the dumpster in a thin layer of slime and handbills. The impact rocked loose several pieces of garbage, which rained down on the somewhat squat VAXX. Once he realized his foe was dead and he was somewhere unfamiliar (again), the VAXX looked around for anything he might bring back home. Home was a leaky box with "VAXX.streetlevel.org" scrawled on the side. His CRT-faced mask shifted into a grin as he picked up a pizza box. "This should fix that pesky leak," he said out loud to himself. Tucking the Bunzai Pizza box under his arm, he set off towards where he was pretty sure his home alley was. * * * * At the best of times, Demon Boy's room was a little cluttered. It wasn't the "hit by a tornado and then hit again when the tornado realized it hadn't done enough damage the first time" look that Leviathan Lass's room had, but it wasn't anywhere near Captain Cleanup's quarters either. This wasn't the best of times, order-wise. Andrew had invited one of the Alt.er.Net.ives over for an all-night movie binge before Sig.Lad's memorial service, and he and Mr. Matinee had spent until the wee hours of the morning watching each other's favorite films. Andrew had hoped to expand the other hero's repertoire of powers by exposing him to something other than action- adventure films while Matinee had tried to get Andrew to broaden his tastes to include that very category. Kirsty had left around midnight, wanting to get some sleep and leaving the two to argue over the relative merits of the American Action-Adventure Film. As a result, she'd been awake in time to make it to the memorial service on time [see Dvandom Force Annual #1, on sale soon!]. Since Andrew had mentioned not wanting to go to another funeral, she hadn't bothered trying to wake him. Now, keep in mind, the sleep he and Mr. Matinee slept wasn't your ordinary sleep. This was "Totally Zonked After An Evening Of Too Much Adrenalin" sleep. This was "You'd Have To Blow Up The Flight.Thingy Bay Outside The Window To Wake These Guys" sleep. Thus they slept right through the alarm klaxons which sounded when two jets started strafing the harbor area. Of course, then someone *did* blow up the Flight.thingy Bay. "AHHHH! Facehuggers! getitoffGetItOffGETITOFFAME!!!!" shouted Andrew as he flailed at the sheets covering his face. Maybe letting himself be talked into watching Alien at 3AM (followed by falling asleep during Aliens after) was a bad thing. Mr. Matinee's reaction was a little more sedate. He jumped straight out of the armchair he'd been sleeping in and fell right over as a cramp hit. "Ow." Whump. "Are we under attack?" came his muffled voice as he did a faceplant into the covers Andrew had just thrown off. Regaining a little composure, Andrew opened the window and looked out. He immediately regretted it, considering that a REALLY big metal Dimetrodon had landed in the Flight.thingy Bay. Fortunately all the vehicles were gone, taking LNHers to the memorial service. Unfortunately, all the LNHers were gone in the vehicles, leaving him and Mr. Matinee, plus whoever else was still around to deal with this...thing. And to top it off, he had a splitting headache that told him this story was taking place in uncertain continuity, which meant a crossover. And while he still wasn't too happy with his own writer, that didn't mean other writers were any better. Definitely not a good...early afternoon, he checked his watch...for Andrew. "Yes, and it's huge!" Andrew shouted. "It just sent two smaller units inside, see if you can find out what they're after! I'll try to distract the big guy." Mr. Matinee nodded and ran off down the corridor, keying into the LNHQ secsystems to find out where the intruders were headed. Andrew pulled out his "little black book," the Demonimonikeron, and started paging through it. "It's mechanical...gremlins, gremlins...where's some gremlins...aha!" Calling out the true names of the antitechnological demons, Andrew called up a trio of small green beings with wool hats and stubby wings on their tails. "Hi. I'm L'rii, this is my broodmate D'ryl and this is my other broodmade D'ryl." "Hi, guys. See that big mechanical lizard out there? Go for it!" "Oh goody," said L'rii. "I've always wanted to take apart a giant mechanical dinosaur, right guys?" The other two nodded mutely, with big silly grins on their faces. "Let's get 'im, D'ryl!" With that, the trio streamed out the window and started making themselves a nuisance. * * * * "Okay," Mr. Matinee said to himself, "it's just me against two killer robots who the computers say are going after Doc Stomper's time machine. Who's good at fighting robots?" Skynet was about to fall, but they wouldn't fall easy. HKs were everywhere in the complex and he had to keep them from finding the time machine, or they'd send a Terminator back in time to kill his leader. Gripping his pulse rifle tightly, he made best speed to the time lab. He was in time! The two nonhumanoid Hunter-Killers were baffled by the locking mechanism. But...this was their own base, right? They should know how to get in...never mind. Skynet was panicking, they probably changed all the locks to keep guys like him out. The two turned on him and he calmly and efficiently shot them to pieces with his pulse rifle. Now to destroy the...defend the.... Mr. Matinee shook his head as he broke character. Good thing he stopped before shooting up Doc Stomper's lab...he wouldn't have liked that. He nudged the smoking remains of the apparently jury-rigged robots with his sneaker, but they didn't move. Time to get back to the Bay and see what he could do against the big guy. Probably not much, but he had to try, right? He was on the right floor now at least, and it took him only a few seconds to make it to the Flight.Thingy Bay. He opened the door and saw the robotic Dimetrodon slicing the last of the Gremlins from Net.Albans in two. It then fixed him with a decidedly unfriendly gaze. "You destroyed my Rear Guard, squishy...time to die!" "GAME OVER, MAN!" he shouted in panic as a headband materialized on his brow and a machinegun in his hands. But the bullets didn't seem to do any good.... * * * * Andrew cursed, but for the sake of underage readers we will omit the actual text of his rather inventive invective. If you wanna hear him curse, go read LOH. This is a family book. Well, this issue at least. The Gremlins hadn't lasted long, disappearing back into Hell when they were sufficiently damaged. Andrew looked frantically through his Demonimonikeron, but couldn't find anything tough enough to take on the robot without also trashing the entire LNHQ in the process. Well, there *was* one, but by the time Andrew would be able to say its entire name Mr. Matinee would be meat paste. He looked down and saw Mr. Matinee dodging laser strikes from the eyes of the beast. "Maybe...if my powers won't work, maybe I can get him in the right frame of mind so he can defeat the thing! But what movie...waitaminnit." Andrew went to his shelves and started rummaging. Anyone looking on right then would have gotten a major headache watching Andrew go through his dimensionally...bent...shelves in search of the movie he wanted. "Orson Welles deserved a better movie to end his career," he muttered as he searched, "but this one might just save the day after all...there you are! Did I...nope, it's still right near the end." Fumbling with the VCR, he ejected Aliens and stuffed in the new tape and hit it to cue back. While it raced back over the credits, he hauled one of the extra speakers he'd added to his system over to the window. It wouldn't help if Matinee didn't hear it. Now, if only he's seen the movie.... Andrew hit play and the robot monster looked up at the source of the new sounds. It seemed confused by the synth chords, but Mr. Matinee was shocked back to his normal form by recognition. He knew what was coming, and the expression on his face was one of "this is gonna REALLY hurt in the morning." Then the song started up. "You've got the touch...you've got the power...." Over it came a strong, heroic voice. "Arise, Rodimus Prime!" In synch with the voice from the speakers, Mr. Matinee whispered, "Optimus?" and then a strange glowing object appeared in his outstretched hands. His skin turned slightly reddish and angular...and he began to grow! The monster realized the object was somehow dangerous and rapidly changed form until it was a humanoid as tall as Mr. Matinee's new form. A savage backhand knocked the object aside and it fell to the ground still glowing brightly. Rodimus Prime was unfazed by this, though, as the power of the Matrix infused every part of his being. "This is the end of the road, Galvatron!" he shouted, lunging at the villain. "What? I am Necrosaur, you AHHHHHHHHHH!!" His shout faded in the distance as Rodimus Prime heaved him out through the hole in the bay doors, sending him in an arc that ended over the Alt.lantic Ocean. Rodimus retrieved the Matrix and fitted his fingers into the holes in its handle. "Now, light our...unnh...." As quickly as he had grown, he now shrank, collapsing in an unconscious heap. Grabbing the edge of his window, Andrew dropped down to the floor of the Flight.thingy Bay and rushed to his new friend's side. A quick check showed he was still alive, but pushing his powers so hard had been more than he could take. Hefting the young hero's body in his arms, Andrew started for the medical bay. "Maybe I should have gone to the services after all," he mused. * * * * Squidman was almost ready to leave for the service. He was starting to feel nervous about it...not just because he knew many of the LNH bore him ill will, but because he hadn't dealt with his strange lack of reaction to it all. He hadn't been able to go back to his terminal for days...his last entry haunted him, he didn't need to look at it to remember it. On a sudden impulse, he reached over and turned on the computer. There was a message for him. And the identity of the sender made his jaw drop.... ============================================================================== TO BE CONTINUED IN DVANDOM FORCE ANNUAL #1 ==============================================================================