Post by doc on Jul 1, 2011 20:48:37 GMT -5
30 years from now….
Matt Ryder wiped the sweat from his brow as the Old Man in front of him loosened the screws on the ventilation grate. “They won’t last much longer.” As if to emphasize his point, the building shook, slamming Matt’s head against the top of the shaft. “Blast it! If Monarch doesn’t kill us, our own fighters will!”
“Patience.” The Old Man delivered flatly as he worked the last screw. “Did you know that the weight of a standard screw is exactly the same as the carrying capacity of a common black ant? That is not a coincidence.” The Old Man turns to face his young companion. His silver hair was cropped closely against his scalp on the sides, with the top covered by the rolled up balaclava he wore. Not that it mattered; he had no facial features to speak of.
The grate cluttered to the ground as the Old Man hopped to the floor, looking surprisingly ginger for his age. He lowered Matt down. The room was dark, save for the spotlights over the many display cases arranged evenly across the span of the giant room. Each display case contained a costume, many of them burnt, torn, or bloody; some where nothing more the shreds of a cape, others had a complete costume, as well as their weapons and accessories.
“This is what you had me spend three years undercover trying to find? His trophy room?” Matt shook his head. “I don’t care what weapons we find here.”
“We aren’t looking for a weapon.” The Old Man moves from case to case, not pausing for more than a few seconds. “No weapon will be enough.”
“Then what are we doing here? Our forces are being cut to ribbons and –“
“-it’s inevitable. The Resistance will be over. There was no chance of victory.”
“You’re insane.”
“You are not the first to say so.”
“Then what are we here for? I should get my wife to safety-“
“She’s already dead.”
“What!” Matt couldn’t contain himself any longer as he grabbed the Old Man by the front of his jacket. “What are you talking about?”
“Waller used your codes to shut down the automated defenses, to give her troops a chance. Once Monarch realizes what’s happened, you, your family, are all as good as dead.”
“THEN WHAT WAS THIS ALL FOR?”
“To save the world.” The Old Man’s fingers were bony, but strong enough to make Matt release his grip. He resumed searching the display cases. He stopped before a mannequin wearing a purple costume and cape, a shattered crossbow lay at the bottom of the case. The Old Man put a hand on the glass for a moment, and bows his head. “I’m sorry.” Whether the statement was directed at him, Matt could not tell.
Matt took a deep breath. “OK, so what the hell is your plan? Because I don’t believe you just got us all killed to look at some costumes in cases.”
“Just one. And here it is.” The Old Man gestured to a green and white costume.
“David Clinton a.k.a. Chronos. Time traveler from a possible future. Monarch killed him years ago. Didn’t want to touch his equipment though. Too dangerous. Timeline too fragile. Good.” The Old Man took out a crowbar and swung it against the glass with all his might, shattering it. Alarms begin to wail. “Not much time. Put it on.” The Old Man began removing the golden harness from the mannequin.
“What? Why?”
“To go back. Change the timeline. Stop Monarch from betraying the League.”
“Why don’t you go back? You’re the only one who knows who he is, after all.”
“That’s …not entirely correct.”
Matt’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding! Oh, come on!”
Now it was The Old Man who snapped. “I wasn’t there! “ He paused for a moment. “ When he blew up the Watchtower, I was…elsewhere. I can only go by guesswork.”
“You’re still the best bet to go – they’ll trust you. Or the younger you, he’ll trust you.”
“I wouldn’t trust me.”
Matt couldn’t repress the urge to roll his eyes.
The outer wall collapsed as a burst of energy exploded outward. Armored boots slowly clanged against the concrete floor as the Monarch walked into the room.
“Question. It’s been a looong time.” Despite the electronic masking, Monarch’s tone came off as friendly. “It’s over. Waller’s gone, the Resistance is finished.”
“Inevitable.” The Question walked towards the Armored behemoth. He took a quick look back at Matt, giving a slight nod, before facing Monarch.
“Do it.”
Monarch sighs as he raises his right arm. “Such a waste.” The gauntlet glowed white hot before a flash of white enveloped the Question.
Only ashes remained.
He walked forward. “I’m afraid it’s your turn now, Matt. I’m truly sorry.”
Matt madly fumbled at the controls, and was quickly rewarded when a tunnel of white opened before him. He laughed as he began to rush for the portal.
Monarch fired another blast, but his timing was off; it hit the portal just as Matt entered it. Waves of energy bounced through the tunnel as Matt fell, the energy turning from white to gold and bathing him in heat.
Matt Ryder screamed as he fell through time.
Matt Ryder wiped the sweat from his brow as the Old Man in front of him loosened the screws on the ventilation grate. “They won’t last much longer.” As if to emphasize his point, the building shook, slamming Matt’s head against the top of the shaft. “Blast it! If Monarch doesn’t kill us, our own fighters will!”
“Patience.” The Old Man delivered flatly as he worked the last screw. “Did you know that the weight of a standard screw is exactly the same as the carrying capacity of a common black ant? That is not a coincidence.” The Old Man turns to face his young companion. His silver hair was cropped closely against his scalp on the sides, with the top covered by the rolled up balaclava he wore. Not that it mattered; he had no facial features to speak of.
The grate cluttered to the ground as the Old Man hopped to the floor, looking surprisingly ginger for his age. He lowered Matt down. The room was dark, save for the spotlights over the many display cases arranged evenly across the span of the giant room. Each display case contained a costume, many of them burnt, torn, or bloody; some where nothing more the shreds of a cape, others had a complete costume, as well as their weapons and accessories.
“This is what you had me spend three years undercover trying to find? His trophy room?” Matt shook his head. “I don’t care what weapons we find here.”
“We aren’t looking for a weapon.” The Old Man moves from case to case, not pausing for more than a few seconds. “No weapon will be enough.”
“Then what are we doing here? Our forces are being cut to ribbons and –“
“-it’s inevitable. The Resistance will be over. There was no chance of victory.”
“You’re insane.”
“You are not the first to say so.”
“Then what are we here for? I should get my wife to safety-“
“She’s already dead.”
“What!” Matt couldn’t contain himself any longer as he grabbed the Old Man by the front of his jacket. “What are you talking about?”
“Waller used your codes to shut down the automated defenses, to give her troops a chance. Once Monarch realizes what’s happened, you, your family, are all as good as dead.”
“THEN WHAT WAS THIS ALL FOR?”
“To save the world.” The Old Man’s fingers were bony, but strong enough to make Matt release his grip. He resumed searching the display cases. He stopped before a mannequin wearing a purple costume and cape, a shattered crossbow lay at the bottom of the case. The Old Man put a hand on the glass for a moment, and bows his head. “I’m sorry.” Whether the statement was directed at him, Matt could not tell.
Matt took a deep breath. “OK, so what the hell is your plan? Because I don’t believe you just got us all killed to look at some costumes in cases.”
“Just one. And here it is.” The Old Man gestured to a green and white costume.
“David Clinton a.k.a. Chronos. Time traveler from a possible future. Monarch killed him years ago. Didn’t want to touch his equipment though. Too dangerous. Timeline too fragile. Good.” The Old Man took out a crowbar and swung it against the glass with all his might, shattering it. Alarms begin to wail. “Not much time. Put it on.” The Old Man began removing the golden harness from the mannequin.
“What? Why?”
“To go back. Change the timeline. Stop Monarch from betraying the League.”
“Why don’t you go back? You’re the only one who knows who he is, after all.”
“That’s …not entirely correct.”
Matt’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding! Oh, come on!”
Now it was The Old Man who snapped. “I wasn’t there! “ He paused for a moment. “ When he blew up the Watchtower, I was…elsewhere. I can only go by guesswork.”
“You’re still the best bet to go – they’ll trust you. Or the younger you, he’ll trust you.”
“I wouldn’t trust me.”
Matt couldn’t repress the urge to roll his eyes.
The outer wall collapsed as a burst of energy exploded outward. Armored boots slowly clanged against the concrete floor as the Monarch walked into the room.
“Question. It’s been a looong time.” Despite the electronic masking, Monarch’s tone came off as friendly. “It’s over. Waller’s gone, the Resistance is finished.”
“Inevitable.” The Question walked towards the Armored behemoth. He took a quick look back at Matt, giving a slight nod, before facing Monarch.
“Do it.”
Monarch sighs as he raises his right arm. “Such a waste.” The gauntlet glowed white hot before a flash of white enveloped the Question.
Only ashes remained.
He walked forward. “I’m afraid it’s your turn now, Matt. I’m truly sorry.”
Matt madly fumbled at the controls, and was quickly rewarded when a tunnel of white opened before him. He laughed as he began to rush for the portal.
Monarch fired another blast, but his timing was off; it hit the portal just as Matt entered it. Waves of energy bounced through the tunnel as Matt fell, the energy turning from white to gold and bathing him in heat.
Matt Ryder screamed as he fell through time.