Bounce

Absolute Comics: A Brave New World

The Fault in Our Stars

_{Part 1 | Suggested Soundtrack}

C A M E L O T
The Kingdom of the Britons | The Year of Our Lord 536

The banners were streaming from atop the parapets.

The sounds of minstrels and the singing of bards punctuated the celebrations on this, the Feast of Stephen. The courtyards and markets brought alive by the tourney that had sprung up around the castle walls to celebrate the hallowed festival of the martyred saint.

The sound of dense wood smacking against wood beat the rhythm of the war drums of child's play. A small gathering of knights and squires surrounding where a pair of boy's sparred in the round. Of the audience, they were the legends. Gods of war in this era and every era since. Sir Galahad, the Knight of the Grail. Jason of Normandy, the Knight of the Blood. Sir Gawain, the Maiden's Knight, greatest of the Knights of the Round Table.

The larger of the boys was Anduin, squire to Sir Jason. A true Briton, of Roman ancestry. His tunic was overlaid in a short coat that was a field embroidered with the likeness of a gold lion - the colors of his knight.

His opponent was a bastard of the Gaels. His Welsh heritage bespoken of by the fair hair and blue eyes that cast a likeness to the king himself. His tunic shifted about his body, cinched at the waist by a double-wrapped Celtic belt. His feet pressing into the moist earth, clad in a pair of caligae that - like his tunic - were largely unchanged from the days when Roman soldiers had marched upon Hadrian's Wall. A time which, for them, was but a few decades earlier. His tabard was two-toned, sewed together of equal parts of white and red.

The colors of the Silent Knight.

Anduin started forward. His size making him like a Goliath moving upon David and fueling an overhead swing that threatened to overpower the smaller page. But the Welsh bastard was fleet-footed, his movements like that of a dancer as he stepped off t the side. His wooden sword angled back as he brought it up in a watershed block that pushed Anduin's blunted blade aside.

It created an opening, into which he neatly stepped through. His wooden sword brought around and then forward, an overhead strike as he pressed the advantage. The attack drove the larger boy back, his desperate leap robbing him of balance as he careened into the audience behind him, stumbling and falling arse-over-backwards. The sight of which sparked the men to laughter.

Still clutching at his wooden sword, the Welsh page had watched the scene transpire with a kind of detachment. His throat warm as he sucked in breath, felt his heart racing inside his chest.

A hand reached out, grabbing his wrist and pulling his sword arm up into the air. As the boy's gaze turned upward, he saw his knight smiling over him as the man raised the boy's arm in a triumph that signaled the end of the match. There was a small smattering of applause, while a others helped Anduin back to his feet.

For his part, the Welsh page was confused. This was his first time taking part in a tourney such as this. Or even seeing such a thing as the Feast of Stephen on the lawn of Camelot.

The confused only deepened as he felt himself seized and lifted up, then spun around. Tankards of mead were raised, as the knights began belting aloud a song of Caedmon. Hugging onto his knight, the page saw the world turn. A merry go round of revelry and good cheer. The minstrel's ballad inciting people to dance.

Shifted around, he found himself feeling somewhat weightless as he went upward. He settled a moment later on the shoulders of the Silent Knight. A man who stood there, wordlessly, as he expressed his gratitude in a language without words for a tankard of mead.

Stood there.

The two of them.

In the shadow of Camelot. From atop the man's shoulder's, the boy looked up and saw the Kent banner flying beside all of the banners. Not least of all the standard of Pendragon.

His mother told him that he would be a king.

To be honest, there was nothing more he wanted so much as to exist in moments like this one. Sir Galahad speaking to Sir Jason. Sir Gawain regaling the maidens fair with stories that were both adventurous and bold. And the Silent Knight, a voiceful member of the company even without uttering a single word.

Maybe he should want to be a king. But to be a knight... to be a knight of the round table... that seemed a far more magnificent thing to him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

THE REALM OF ANNWN
The Mystic Isle of Murias | Present Day

He woke with a start.

Part of him still dreaming, he reached out. Reaching, as though expecting the Silent Knight to be there. Part of him, the part not yet awake, wondering why he wasn't.

And then he remembered.

And wished very much that he didn't.

Dreams. Vile, wicked things. Like honey-lipped demons with butterfly wings, they pulled from memory the sweetest moments... only to pull them away again with the waking. The realization that yesterday was no more, and today was not what it was supposed to be. The promise of so many tomorrows. So many lies.

This a new day surely would birth still more.

He sat up, his eyes exploring the inside of a room within a castle that time had forgotten. Stone hewn walls with small, arched windows that offered an enviable view out over an emerald isle. He rose from out of the bed, the simple shift that was his nightgown falling just shy of the tops of his feet as the bed-headed young page stumbled from out of the bedroom in a kind of sleepy-eyes stupor.

The search for a chamberpot took him through the interior of a fortified mansion that seemed to date somewhere back to the 11th Century, though some of the tapestries and armors spoke of some time later. Strange, then, when he ducked into a room off from the hall and flicked on a light switch. Fully illuminating a modern bathroom, complete with a western toilet.

When he'd emerged some moments later, stretching with a large yawn, the boy started down toward the kitchens. He passed through the foyer. He passed through the great room. He passed through the library. Each progressive step sending a certain feeling of unease through him. "Mother?" the question echoed as he voiced it aloud, giving form to the slight anxiety of being in a large house, alone.

The kitchen, like the bathroom, didn't seem to make sense within the period castle. A modern refrigerator aglow with electricity as the boy tugged on the door. Pulling out a container of orange juice, he ventured next toward the cupboard. "Mother?"

Silence there, and nothing more.

A wooden cup and a poptart encased in silvery foil came away as he withdrew his hand from the cupboard. He moved to sit at the servant's table, there in the kitchen, with his breakfast of juice and a poptart.

Alone.

Absolute Comics: A Brave New World

^{"The king is dead. Long live the king."}

^{MORDRED PENDRAGON ♦ c. 527 AD (1,490) ♦ MALE ♦ NEUTRAL}

C O N C E P T A B S T R A C T:

---

Inspired by Marvel's Fear Itself storyline and the Doctor Strange movie set in the Marvel cinematic universe, this take on Mordred borrows heavily from the wealth of literature and the historical literary debate surrounding the role of Mordred in Arthurian legend, with the obvious nod to the DC Animated Universe. Is Mordred the hero? Is Mordred the villain? Is Mordred just a victim of fate? It's true. All of it.

Mordred is the son of Arthur and his half-sister, Morgaine. Like Arthur, he was conceived through deception and illusion, marking that the difference between Merlin and Morgaine is one of perspective rather than methods. Also like Arthur, who was used by Merlin in bringing his envisioned utopia to fruition, Mordred is a means to an ends for Morgaine. He is to her what Arthur was for Merlin, a means by which to rule the one who wears the crown and be free of the crown itself (all the power, none of the responsibility). He served as a page and squired for Sir Brian of Kent, also known as the Silent Knight, and wielded Clarent, one of the swords of King Arthur.

He and Arthur were both present for the Battle of Camlann, at which Arthur wielded Excalibur and Mordred wielded Clarent, the latter of which would become broken - and the broken shard of Clarent would find its way into Arthur's mortal wound. But what really happened is a litany of lies that have been told to satisfy the egos of the three people who manipulated all the events leading up to Camlann. Merlin. Morgaine. And Morgaine's lover, Jason of Normandy (also known as Jason Blood). Somewhere inbetween the lies, the egos, and the conspiratorial whispers designed to grasp the throne of all Britain is one young boy who never asked to exist and yet is judged by history for no greater crime than being born.

To some, he is the rightful heir to Arthur's throne. To others, he is history's most magnificent bastard. And none now live who could claim to know the right by any of the deeds he may, or may not, have performed.

Setting the stage for our story, Morgaine Le Fey has vanished. The search for his mother reveals a threat to England, if not the world, propelling Mordred into the footsteps of his father and his mother both. Will he become the knight he was meant to be? Or will he become the villain history has made him out to be?

N O T E S:

---

BASIC TIMELINE

• 527 AD - Morgaine le Fay, half-sister to Arthur Pendragon, enchants and deceives her brother in order to conceive Mordred - the first in a grand scheme to depose and replace Arthur that would seat her as the Shadow Queen of all Britannia.

• 536 AD - Mordred becomes page and squire to Sir Brian of Kent, the Silent Knight. When his knight loses his sword, Mordred goes searching for a replacement and returns with Clarent, King Arthur's knighting sword. Historians debate whether Arthur bestowed the sword to Mordred or if Mordred simply stole it, the latter being the more popular in line with Mordred's modern interpretation as the traitor of Camelot.

• 537 AD - The Battle of Camlann, in which Arthur and Mordred fell. It is unclear from the oldest surviving histories whether Mordred fought with or against Arthur, though this was the battle in which Jason Blood did betray Arthur and conspired with Morgaine le Fay to depose him. Over time, authors have associated Mordred's name with treachery, and laid the blame for Arthur's death on his hands.

• September 1919 - A British archaeologist by the name of Morganna de la Fontaine (Morgaine le Fay) presents Adolf Hitler with the Spear of Longinus, the lance that pierced the side of Christ, enabling his rise to power. In exchange, she asks only for access to German research in the years to come.

• 1925-1927 - German Meteor expedition to the antarctic. Crew lists include Morganna de la Fontaine (Morgaine le Fay), who guides the expedition to covertly recover the Crystal of Kadavus during sonar mapping of the South Atlantic Ridge.

• 26 January 1937 - The first full moon on the 1,400th anniversary of the Battle of Camlann. Using the power of Crystal of Kadavus on Mordred's remains. As he was conceived with magic, the artifact partially restores Mordred's being, but does not restore him to life.

• 25 February 1937 - The second full moon of the 1,400th anniversary of the Battle of Camlann. Using the Crystal of Kadavus, Morgaine le Fay restores Mordred to life and, drawing power from the realm of Annwn, casts a spell granting him eternal youth.

• March 1942 - Negotiations on the rule of England following Nazi victory in Europe are postponed after Allied victories in Germany prompt Morgaine to take Mordred and flee Nazi Germany. The pair settle on the Isle of Murias in Annwn.

• April 1953 - The bicentenary of the British Museum, which is celebrated with a showcasing of artifacts related to the legend of King Arthur, including Goswhit, the helmet of Arthur. Mordred creates a public disturbance when he tries to recover his father's helmet, only to be stopped by Sir Justin (Ystin).

• May 2005 - The E3 convention in Star City, California. Mordred attends and is attacked by Etrigan the Demon, seeking to draw out Morgaine le Fay. The wounded Mordred is enchanted to sleep until it is time for him to claim his kingdom (and to keep him from wandering off) by Morgaine.

• January 2017 - Mordred awakens in the Castle Murias, with no sign of his mother. Leaving Annwn, the boy searches for clues as to where she may have gone, and what she may have been doing.

Absolute Comics: A Brave New World

@Lord Wraith

Thank for the kind words.

I shall terrorize the IC anon!

Absolute Comics: A Brave New World

CHARACTER PROPOSAL

---

^{"The king is dead. Long live the king."}

^{MORDRED PENDRAGON ♦ c. 527 AD (1,490) ♦ MALE ♦ NEUTRAL}

C O N C E P T A B S T R A C T:

---

Inspired by Marvel's Fear Itself storyline and the Doctor Strange movie set in the Marvel cinematic universe, this take on Mordred borrows heavily from the wealth of literature and the historical literary debate surrounding the role of Mordred in Arthurian legend, with the obvious nod to the DC Animated Universe. Is Mordred the hero? Is Mordred the villain? Is Mordred just a victim of fate? It's true. All of it.

Mordred is the son of Arthur and his half-sister, Morgaine. Like Arthur, he was conceived through deception and illusion, marking that the difference between Merlin and Morgaine is one of perspective rather than methods. Also like Arthur, who was used by Merlin in bringing his envisioned utopia to fruition, Mordred is a means to an ends for Morgaine. He is to her what Arthur was for Merlin, a means by which to rule the one who wears the crown and be free of the crown itself (all the power, none of the responsibility). He served as a page and squired for Sir Brian of Kent, also known as the Silent Knight, and wielded Clarent, one of the swords of King Arthur.

He and Arthur were both present for the Battle of Camlann, at which Arthur wielded Excalibur and Mordred wielded Clarent, the latter of which would become broken - and the broken shard of Clarent would find its way into Arthur's mortal wound. But what really happened is a litany of lies that have been told to satisfy the egos of the three people who manipulated all the events leading up to Camlann. Merlin. Morgaine. And Morgaine's lover, Jason of Normandy (also known as Jason Blood). Somewhere inbetween the lies, the egos, and the conspiratorial whispers designed to grasp the throne of all Britain is one young boy who never asked to exist and yet is judged by history for no greater crime than being born.

To some, he is the rightful heir to Arthur's throne. To others, he is history's most magnificent bastard. And none now live who could claim to know the right by any of the deeds he may, or may not, have performed.

Setting the stage for our story, Morgaine Le Fey has vanished. The search for his mother reveals a threat to England, if not the world, propelling Mordred into the footsteps of his father and his mother both. Will he become the knight he was meant to be? Or will he become the villain history has made him out to be?

N O T E S:

---

BASIC TIMELINE

• 527 AD - Morgaine le Fay, half-sister to Arthur Pendragon, enchants and deceives her brother in order to conceive Mordred - the first in a grand scheme to depose and replace Arthur that would seat her as the Shadow Queen of all Britannia.

• 536 AD - Mordred becomes page and squire to Sir Brian of Kent, the Silent Knight. When his knight loses his sword, Mordred goes searching for a replacement and returns with Clarent, King Arthur's knighting sword. Historians debate whether Arthur bestowed the sword to Mordred or if Mordred simply stole it, the latter being the more popular in line with Mordred's modern interpretation as the traitor of Camelot.

• 537 AD - The Battle of Camlann, in which Arthur and Mordred fell. It is unclear from the oldest surviving histories whether Mordred fought with or against Arthur, though this was the battle in which Jason Blood did betray Arthur and conspired with Morgaine le Fay to depose him. Over time, authors have associated Mordred's name with treachery, and laid the blame for Arthur's death on his hands.

• September 1919 - A British archaeologist by the name of Morganna de la Fontaine (Morgaine le Fay) presents Adolf Hitler with the Spear of Longinus, the lance that pierced the side of Christ, enabling his rise to power. In exchange, she asks only for access to German research in the years to come.

• 1925-1927 - German Meteor expedition to the antarctic. Crew lists include Morganna de la Fontaine (Morgaine le Fay), who guides the expedition to covertly recover the Crystal of Kadavus during sonar mapping of the South Atlantic Ridge.

• 26 January 1937 - The first full moon on the 1,400th anniversary of the Battle of Camlann. Using the power of Crystal of Kadavus on Mordred's remains. As he was conceived with magic, the artifact partially restores Mordred's being, but does not restore him to life.

• 25 February 1937 - The second full moon of the 1,400th anniversary of the Battle of Camlann. Using the Crystal of Kadavus, Morgaine le Fay restores Mordred to life and, drawing power from the realm of Annwn, casts a spell granting him eternal youth.

• March 1942 - Negotiations on the rule of England following Nazi victory in Europe are postponed after Allied victories in Germany prompt Morgaine to take Mordred and flee Nazi Germany. The pair settle on the Isle of Murias in Annwn.

• April 1953 - The bicentenary of the British Museum, which is celebrated with a showcasing of artifacts related to the legend of King Arthur, including Goswhit, the helmet of Arthur. Mordred creates a public disturbance when he tries to recover his father's helmet, only to be stopped by Sir Justin (Ystin).

• May 2005 - The E3 convention in Star City, California. Mordred attends and is attacked by Etrigan the Demon, seeking to draw out Morgaine le Fay. The wounded Mordred is enchanted to sleep until it is time for him to claim his kingdom (and to keep him from wandering off) by Morgaine.

• January 2017 - Mordred awakens in the Castle Murias, with no sign of his mother. Leaving Annwn, the boy searches for clues as to where she may have gone, and what she may have been doing.

Maximum Comics

Rebooted Dami-Spawn's first post.

And I now own the last three IC posts with all of my characters.

I hereby declare this the Super Bounce Power Hour.

Maximum Comics

May 2nd, 2016 ♦ Bludhaven, New Jersey

The back roads outside the suburbs were empty as the car went barreling over an unpaved section of Highway 70.

...I like smoking lightning... heavy metal thunder...

A two liter four-cylinder roared over the dirt and gravel, the hubcaps spinning clouds of dust in an expansive wake behind where the red hatchback coupe was prowling along the edges of town. It was the 1973 Ford Pinto. Steppenwolf blasted from the 8-track deck in the dash, as the boy at the wheel had one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick, a foot on the clutch and the other on the gas. The seat was as far forward as it would go, a pair of old phone books wedged between the seat and his butt in order for him to see over the dash.

To be certain, the Redbird was a complete and total piece of shit.

It was also something of a labor of love, as working on the car was a seemingly endless project to occupy the child.

When you lived in a graveyard, projects to take your mind off of things were a must.

Engaging the clutch, the boy spun the wheel and gently applied the emergency brake as a drift stick, taking the car into a controlled vertical slid as he executed a sharp turn. Downshifting, the boy let off the clutch and punched the gas, feeling the tires spinning as the car struck pavement and took off.

He'd tracked Mark to a warehouse on the old Waterloo Docks. Safe bet was that's where the heroine was moving in and out of, allowing him to take out the dealer and the supply chain all at the same time.

Cutting the headlights, the Pinto shuddered along until it arrived at a fishing pier that had been shut down since the late 1960's, when it had been a popular children's swimming hole. That was before the Environmental Protection Agency or water quality testing, which had summarily condemned the river for chemical runoff. But the old pier still offered a vantage point on the docks across the river.

He parked the car outside of an old wrought iron fence that was falling off its hinges. The chain and lock were probably the only thing still holding it upright. Without pause, the child passed straight through the metal bars as though they weren't even there. As he did, his form shifted as though his shadow had come alive.

The shadow seemed to become tangible, black as the night and red like blood. It spread across his body, as a domino mask appeared across his eyes -- which glowed with an eerie light. Heavy chains hung off his form, as though he'd broken free of some hellish bondage, clinking lightly as he walked.

The planks of the old pier had rotted completely through. The boy stood out on a pylon, out toward the middle of the river, and took a seat as he stared across at the warehouse.

There was a light on.

Someone was expecting a delivery.

As he waited, the young Hellspawn pulled out a pack of Marlboro reds. Tapping the pack against his knee, the boy pulled a cigarette free and slipped it between his lips. A flicker of hellfire glowed at the tip of one finger as he lit it up and drew in a breath.

All he could taste was ash in his mouth.

Forcing air from out of dead lungs, the child corpse exhaled into the night air, flicking some of the burning embers off to fizzle in the water below. And settled in for a long wait.

Maximum Comics

THE PENTAGON
U.S. Department of Defense
Arlington, Virginia

"The pod is roughly three by four meters. Scans have revealed an interior volume of..."

"We've ruled out a nuclear strike?"

The Joint Chiefs were assembled in a conference room, screens lit with various angles of a live feed that was streaming from the Army National Guard base in New Mexico, where the Kryptonian pod had been transported from the landing strip for initial study. A NASA flight surgeon had been brought in from Metropolis to oversee the procedure, a measure that the DoD had acquiesced to only because the doctor in question was a military officer.

As far as General Samuel Lane was concerned, this was a strictly military operation now.

"...ultrasound measurements indicate a fluctuating mass inside the..."

The flight surgeon's voice narrated the images surrounding the room. The microphone near the general muted as he posed the question to the National Security Advisor. A mousey, meek politician who seemed to shrink under the weight of Lane's glare. "Are you joking?" the man stammered, before quickly regretting the question.

Sam Lane never joked.

Clearing his throat, the advisor started again. "The Russians would have a field day. Say we're violating New START. And then there's the Chinese, the North Koreans. We'd have almost no support from NATO..."

"Fuck NATO," Lane growled, a baritone rumble as he looked around the room. "Gentlemen, if there's another Superman in that pod, we have a problem." One Kryptonian was one too many. There were too many unknowns with Superman. Least of all, vulnerabilities. How could they defend against Superman?

"We're operating on the assumption that there's someone in that pod," a Coast Guard officer said, piping up from the back end of the table. "My understanding is that the Richards' expedition was only green-lit because the going assumption was that this was a part that had fallen off the alien ship."

"And if it is a lifepod, we now face the possibility that this was an object deliberately launched into orbit," another voice, a Marine Corps officer, interjected. "We might have just picked up a grenade, ladies."

Listening to the debate, Lane's finger reached across for the button on the microphone. "What's this assholes name?"

"Donovan, sir."

"Donovan..." Lane echoed, as though it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Depressing the button, Lane's voice resonated through the speakers overhead as he asked, "Doctor Donovan, in your opinion, is there a lifeform inside of that pod?"

There was a crackle of static and a pause. On the screens, a man in a aluminum-like hazard suit stopped his work in order to turn and face one of the cameras.

"Sir, the data lends itself to no concrete conclusion at present, but..."

"Best guess, Commander," Lane snapped, cutting the man off.

"No, sir. I don't believe there is a lifeform aboard the pod."

Lane looked at the Marine. The Marine looked at the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard was looking at the National Security Advisor. And the National Security Advisor looked like he was ready to piss himself if he didn't get out of this room soon. Depressing the button a second time, Lane answered, "You don't?"

"I think there are two lifeforms, sir."

Taking his finger off the microphone, General Sam Lane -- along with all of the assembled Joint Chiefs -- looked over at the National Security Advisor.

The silence was uncomfortable to say the least. "Perhaps... an accident in-- involving one of our... nu... nuclear silos," the man stammered, pulling out a handkerchief as the sweat starting running off his forehead.

The Army Chief of Staff was locking his sights on Lane. "What do you propose? The Manhatten Project in the middle of Colorado?"

"This is an election year," the National Security Advisor managed coherently, swabbing at his face anxiously with the cloth. "The President must have plausible deniability."

"Bob," Lane's voice cut in, turning attention to the Chief of Naval Operations. "What if we put it at the bottom of the ocean?"

The Admiral gave Lane a quizzical look. "And do what? Hit it with a torpedo?"

That, and a cup of really hot coffee, were going to do absolutely nothing to Superman from what they'd observed.

"Not just a torpedo," Lane answered flatly.

The room fell silent again, until the National Security Advisor was the one to finally break the ice. "North Korea lost a sub not too long ago, if we place it in the South China Sea they couldn't easily pin it back to us."

It was the National Guard who voiced the dissent.

"I look around this room and I wonder, what happened to America?"

All eyes in the room swept to the back of the room, where the Coast Guard and Air Guard were quickly distancing themselves from the Army Reservist who, for his part, seemed to be wondering what was wrong with everyone else. "You know, this is a race we know nothing about. We know nothing about what's inside that pod. What is it. Who is it," the man said, even as he looked around the room and realized he was totally alone in what he was saying. "And we're sitting here, reacting out of fear, just wanting to... lash out and destroy what may be our one opportunity to greet an extraterrestrial race with, I don't know... what's on the Statue of Liberty? Give me your tired, your weary, your poor..?"

Lane laughed. A short, gruff, hollow sound. Standing, the General leaned over the table and answered clearly, "Today, gentlemen, that sign reads No Vacancy."

The room stood at attention, chairs scraping against the floor as all of the officers stood. Looking around at his officers, Lane raised a finger to point at each one in turn. "Now, I want that piece of shit taken out of NASA's hands and no one, no one knows it was ever here," the General stated, pausing only to get a nod of agreement out of the National Security Advisor. When he'd gotten it, Lane looked back and up and added, "We'll take it out back and we're going to put a nuke up it's Super-ass, and it can go to hell."

As he started for the door, the man stopped for just a moment, leveling a glare straight at the National Guard Chairman. "I want one thing to be very clear, gentlemen. That pod is a clear and present danger to these United States."

Maximum Comics

"From Qurac With Love" Part 2

U.S.S. CHESAPEAKE
Luxor-class Helicarrier
Somewhere over the Atlantic

A fog of solid white rolled off the carrier deck, revealing a pristine sky of blue and an endless horizon as the winds cleared away the clouds from the massive ship moving over the ocean below. Her image reflected in the glass, Rita Farr lookout out and could only sum up what she saw in one word. "Unbelievable."

"I know, right?"

The voice, behind her, caused an involuntary shudder even before Steve Dayton could continue. "I mean, where the hell is that intern with my coffee?" Steve Dayton demanded, as the man stood in the center of a military plot and map room in his Armani finest.

Turning, the brunette starlet hesitated a moment before she finally spoke. "Speaking of, Steve..."

"What?"

The response had come so quick that he'd interrupted her. Starting again, Rita tried, "Steve..."

"What, Rita!? God!"

Now they were just talking over each other. Shoulder slumping, the woman gave a heavy sigh. "Steve, why is Garfield here?" she demanded bluntly.

Raising his eyes up from the plot in front of him, Steve was absently toying with a cufflink as he looked back at the woman. "Well, first of all, Rita, did you see that kid fix the copier? I mean, if we get into a Xerox emergency here, I definitely want that kid on our team."

A Xerox emer... Reaching up a hand, Rita pinched the bridge of her nose in vain effort at heading off a rising headache. "How did I know I was going to regret asking that question," the woman posed aloud.

"...second, what if we're in the middle of Hydra agents in the Qurac Congo and I want a triple, no-fat latte with caramel drizzle? Who's going to get that, Rita? Huh? Who's going get that? You? God, Rita, take the star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame out of your ass and think about someone else for a change!"

The fingers pinching the bridge of her nose came away, as the woman planted her face in her hand. Then took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I have... no response to that," the woman answered flatly.

"...and, you know, he maybe speaks Swahili, Lingana, and Arabic. So, you know..."

"What!?" Rita's head snapped up, her eyes darting around as though just realizing that someone wasn't in the room with them. "What happened to Mahmoud?"

"Killed in a car jacking in Manhatten," Steve answered with a shrug. "It was a week... month ago. The office sent a card. I think."

Rita ran her hands through her hair, turning back toward the window out into the sky for a moment. Glancing back over her shoulder, the woman asked, "What about that ex-SEAL? What's his name? Dave? Frank?"

"Bobby," Steve corrected with perfect aplomb. "Shooting accident on the range."

"Really?" Rita uttered, finding herself stunned at the news. Two S.H.I.E.L.D. linguists gone... just like that? "Wow. That's a string of bad luck."

"I know, right?"

"Here's your coffee, Mister Dayton."

The boy was dressed for travel. An athletic track suit now dressing his form with a pair of what looked like vintage Jordans. That was probably the Garfield equivalent to Armani. Accepting the offered cup, Steve saluted the kid. "First class, Garfield."

Then, he took a sip. "Oh my god, Garfield. What... what the fuck is that? Folgers?"

"...it's all they had, sir."

Lowering the cup down, Steve put one arm straight out, finger extended. His voice boomed ominously as he commanded, "Get the FUCK off my helicarrier."

Garfield's jaw went slack.

Rita just blinked, then planted her face back into the palm of her hand. "Steve, what... does that even mean?" the woman asked, realizing it was more of a rhetorical question if anything. "We're seriously, like, thirty thousand feet here."

"Right, thirty thousand feet, and it's fucking Folgers in my cup," Dayton spat back vehemently, staring daggers at Garfield even as he growled in response to Rita's commentary. "Which, let me tell you, is NOT the best part of waking up."

With a loud, exaggerated sigh, Rita Farr shook her head and started for the exit.

She got three steps before Steve called after her. "Rita."

And she kept walking.

"Rita!"

Her hand grabbed the door handle, pulling it open.

"RITA!"

Siloutted in the frame of the watertight door, the brunette turned her head sharply to scream back, "WHAT!?"

"The fuck are you going?" Steve asked.

"Getting away from you," she shot back, slamming the door hard behind her.

"Pfft," Steve uttered, before glancing over toward Garfield with a shrug. "Women, am I right?"

Maximum Comics

WHITE SANDS SPACE HARBOR
NASA Alternate Space Shuttle Landing Site
White Sands, New Mexico

He'd gotten the call at two in the morning.

An hour before then, the Space-X Exclaibur, an experimental space plane, had been given the go-ahead to de-orbit after a NASA and Space-X joint venture to recover a piece of debris from the Krptonian ship for study. On board had been a crew of four. Two mission specialists, Reed Richards and Susan Storm, pilots Jonathan Storm and Benjamin Grimm.

As for what happened next, he'd gotten the brief on the C-12 from Metropolis to the White Sands Testing Facility that doubled as an old Space Shuttle proving ground, ditching option, and emergency airfield. It had only been used one time in the history of the Space Shuttle Program. STS-3, the third flight of both Colombia and the Space Shuttle Program, landed here when weather prevented landing at either Cape Canaveral or Edwards Air Force Base.

The Excalibur had executed a de-orbiting burn for two minutes and nineteen seconds, at which time it had turned for re-positioning to enter the atmosphere. At approximately the same time, an electromagnetic anomaly lit of alarms from the International Space Station to Houston, Texas. As to whatever that was, a massive solar flare, sun spot activity, or just a complete anomaly within the Kuiper Belt, the Exclaibur and it's crew had been exposed to massive amounts of cosmic radiation. Houston had lost contact with the crew on board the Exclaibur and enacted emergency protocols originally designed in the aftermath of the Colombia accident to remotely re-direct and land the experimental spaceplane here at White Sands.

An orange light was illuminating the horizon as the disheveled, unshaven man stepped off the C-12 and onto the tarmac. Silver oak leaf insignia stood out on the shoulders of the military flight suit that he wore. The patch on the left side of his chest was embroidered with gold wings embossed with the medical caduceus symbol, beneath which were the words:

DABNEY DONOVAN
CDR MC USN

As the sun was threatening to rise on the horizon, Donovan could see fire crews still working to extinguish the smoldering frame of the Exclaibur there on the runway. As he started down from the plane's ladder, a man in a suit called out his name.

It was never good when it was a man in a suit. The U.S. military wore their affiliations openly. NASA personnel were wearing lanyards with their names and credentials. Firefighters each bore either military or federal civilian IDs on their sleeves. But the guy in the suit? Nothing. And, yet, he was here. In what was almost certainly a highly classified area.

So what did that leave? FBI? NSA? If there was one thing that Donovan had learned to be skeptical of, it was obscure three-letter acronyms associated with the U.S. government.

"What's the condition of the crew?" Donovan asked, skipping the introductions, and doubting there would be any.

"Alive, though they appear to be suffering some effects of radiation poisoning," the man in the suit reported, falling into step beside Donovan as the doctor made a beeline toward the smoldering wreckage. "They've been evacuated to Walter Reed for observation."

Donovan came up short. "Evacuated?" the doctor echoed, turning to face the man in the suit. "I got a call at two A.M. and told to fly out here ASAP," Dabney stated, more than a little annoyed if he was in New Mexico and his supposed patients were at a hospital in Maryland. "This isn't a house call, so please state the nature of the medical emergency," Donovan uttered flatly.

If Donovan was pissed, the man in the suit was completely nonplussed. "You're here because of what the Richards' expedition recovered, Doctor," the man answered in an even tone. Gesturing toward one area of the wreckage, the man in the suit beckoned. "This way, please."

Stepping over burning hunks of metal, the man in the suit led the Navy and NASA flight surgeon toward a large, oval-shaped object. The coloration and design didn't match anything else there on the runway. It was almost... crystalline, albeit cracked and pitted as though it had just been through quite the ordeal.

"We'd thought it was just a piece of the Kryptonian ship," the man in the suit was saying, as Donovan walked past him to approach the strange, otherworldly object. Now the Richards' expedition made more sense. The public story had been that Reed Richards and his crew were going to install new capabilities and hardware on the Hubble Telescope. Recovering alien technology in orbit of the planet was a much more plausible excuse to blow money in this restrictive fiscal environment.

If there was one thing that the U.S. Government didn't have time or money for, it was NASA funding.

Leaning in for a closer inspection, as Donovan peered over the crystalline formation comprising the strange, geode-like form, he heard the man in the suit say, "Now, however, we think it might be..."

Then he saw it.

A shadow. A flicker. At first, he'd thought it might only be a trick of the light. Except, the form had been distinct.

It had been humanoid.

"...life pod," Donovan breathed softly.

Maximum Comics

"From Qurac With Love" Part 1

S.H.I.E.L.D. CENTRAL
The Global Operations Center
Metropolis, DE, USA

Steve Dayton was a man in the middle of a storm.

Monitors bathed the dimly lit room in a sea of colors. Holographic models shone in tucked away corners where armchair generals and analysts carefully picked over developments in all parts of the world. Idly fiddling with the sterling cufflinks, the seasoned agent in the exquisitely tailored Armani suit was watching a giant track of the Middle East. Without looking, the man raised his voice as he called out, "Larry, where's my update on those Russian bombers?"

"Just waiting for sat-link coverage to come back up over the peninsula."

Ice blue eyes swept with the slightly turn of his head, leveling a chilling glare over at the pilot at the computer terminal a level below him. "Take your time. We're not trying to stop World War Three or anything," Steve barked impatiently. When silence lingered for longer than a second, he rapt two fingers against the watch on his wrist. "No, seriously, no rush. When you get to it."

"They're twelve kilometers outside Turkish airspace, en route toward Syria."

_{"Was that so god damn hard,"} the man muttered, pivoting to look back over the opposite shoulder at a brunette who was a knock-out at any age. "Rita, talk to me about Turkey."

"They're issuing warnings about entering their airspace."

No shit. But that wasn't the question he'd asked. "Will they fire?" Steve uttered, making his area of concern more clear.

"I don't think so, no," the woman answered, rather brusque but to the point. "They don't want another incident like in November."

With a nod, Steve acknowledged the report and was already moving on to the next part. Leaning over the panel in front of him, he peered down into the workstation of the transportation action officer. "Cliff, how's that evac coming?"

Rita's voice cut in from behind him. "We don't know for sure that the Russians are targeting..."

With a loud snap, Steve Dayton silenced the room. Leveling a finger over at the pilot, Steve asked, "Larry, is the Op Area in the Russian flight path?"

"If they maintain heading..."

Another snap, followed by a look back at Rita. That ought to be answer enough. If the Russians were flying bombers into Syria, Steve wasn't taking the chance of SG-5 getting caught in some bullshit Kremlin crossfire. "Garfield!" the man shouted.

The rapid sound of flat rubber soles slapping against the floor alerted Steve to the approach of his new secretary. Or 'administrative operations specialist.' Whatever the fuck bitches were calling themselves these days. The kid looked like he belonged in high school. A shaggy mop of hair and a suit that was obviously bought off the rack at Men's Wearhouse. With a pair of Vans, which were probably the nicest shoes he owned. "Sir?"

Sizing the young man up, Steve leveled with the kid. "This is the most crucial piece of this entire operation, Garfield. You're certain everything is right?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. "Y-yes, sir," Garfield stammered, holding it out for Agent Dayton to take.

Steve didn't reach for it yet. "I'm counting on you, Garfield," the agent-in-charge uttered, looking at the object in the boy's hands and then raising his eyes to look the kid in the face. He looked like fear, smelled like Aquavelva, and shook with more nerves than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Lives are counting on you," Steve dropped ominously, before he finally stretched out his hand. "Let's see what you've got."

In a moment of baited breath, the green-skinned young college student passed the white cup with its trademark green logo of a two-tailed mermaid into the waiting arms of the veteran spy. Holding the sacred chalice of overpriced caffeinated beverages aloft, Agent Dayton tipped the drink back for a tender kiss of the hot coffee against his lips.

Then he lowered the cup back down.

"Garfield?"

The boy might well have shit himself. His throat bobbed as he audibly swallowed at hearing his name spoken in that tone. "Yes, sir?" His voice might have gone up an octave on that one.

"All I asked for was a triple, venti, soy, no-foam latte."

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Is this a triple, venti, soy, no-foam latte?"

Green eyes just blinked. The boy was utterly baffled, as though he'd just been posed a trick question. "Uhhh..."

Popping the top off the white cup, Steve held the container out for the youth to inspect for himself. A head of foamed milk swirled at the top. "What's this look like to you, Garfield?"

The boy looked at Steve, then down at the cup, then back at Steve. "Foam, sir," he answered, sheepishly.

"It's foam, Garfield," Steve echoed, replacing the top and then holding the cup over the trash can before dropping the entire thing down into the bin. "I mean, I'm only defending the fucking free world here! Is it too much that I ask for a triple, venti, soy, NO-FOAM latte, Garfield?"

The kid took two steps back. Honestly, Steve was impressed it hadn't been more. "No, sir."

"No, sir," Steve echoed, holding his tongue before he said something about apologies and a quarter still not adding up to a cup of coffee.

"Sorry, sir."

"Is there anything else, Mister Logan?" Steve asked pointedly.

"Uhhh..." When the boy didn't appear to get the gist, Steve snapped his fingers and jerked a thumb toward the exit. "Yes, sir," Garfield uttered, shoulders slumped as he shuffled his way back out.

He'd made it three steps out into the hall before a voice called after him.

Pausing, the teen looked up to see a young woman with dark hair and glasses ambling down his way. She was the graduate student interning in HR. Donna? Deanna? D-something... "Oh, uh, h-hi, uh, Debbie, ri--"

Yeah, he got the look. "Dorothy."

"Dorothy, right, yeah," Garfield amended quickly. Then stood there. And what were they talking about? "So, uhh..."

"I was just wanting to chat with ya," the young woman said, holding her clipboard up against her chest as she smiled and added, "I mean, it's not like Human Resources needs a reason to just chat with folks, right?"

Garfield feigned a laugh, which came out rather weak as he flinched back at that remark. "Right, yeah," he agreed, albeit hesitantly.

"Actually, there's a reason."

Of course there was.

"Ya know, the other day, when ya fixed the copier?"

"...yeah?"

"And ya did that fist thing and said 'Go Green'..."

"Green Powah," the boy said, correcting her without so much as missing a beat. Then everything got quiet again. "Er, something like that."

"Yeah, that's not okay."

Wait, what? "Not... okay?" Garfield repeated, almost just to see if he'd heard her right.

"Yeah, you can't be doing that here."

Truthfully, at this point, Garfield wasn't certain if he was lost, dazed, or just confused. "Huh?"

"See, some people feel that you're focusing on your color, to the exclusion of others," Dorothy said, holding out her clipboard as she started to go through her notes. "And then the obvious reference to the Black Panthers, when you marked 'Caucasian' for race/ethnicity on your application forms... Well, I don't need to tell you, that's got some people saying you're committing cultural appropriation. You know, from real colored people."

Make that dazed, confused, or starting to get pissed off. "Real..." Gar began, finding himself flustered and speechless at the suggestion. Holding out both arms, the teen looked at the older girl and answered, "I'm GREEN!"

Seriously. Colored people? Was that even PC in this day and age?

"...and, wait, how would anybody know what I put for race on my..."

"That's not what we're talking about, Mister Logan," Dorothy snapped, interrupting before he could finish that thought. "And I trust we won't need to have this talk again."

With that, she held up two fingers as she made the universal 'eye on you' gesture and stormed off.

"Ugghhhh..." As he slumped forward, the teen planted his head firmly against the wall.