Aeternum-issue One, Intro

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By The River

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Illustration masterfully brought to you by Vaggelis Ntousakis. http://www.facebook.com/the.grue (all rights reserved)

“I killed a man here, once. On this river bank. I think it was right...there. Yeah, that's the spot. You can still see the stain he left as he bled out on the ground. I remember looking at all this blood pooling ‘round him, flowing between the rocks, thinking ‘this can't be happening, can it? A guy can't have this much blood in him’. He whimpered all the time, though. It's the whimpering I can't stand. See, when a guy's about to die, he kind of...regresses. He turns back into a little sobbing ape, crying for help to the rest of his pack. Had to push him underwater to make him shut up. Little ape went down like a stone, met all the other dead apes in the bottom. It's full of it down there, you know. I bet if you stacked them on top of one another, you could build a house out of all the dead in just the bottom of this river. Hell, you could get some good furniture out of the deal too. Moldy beds, old couches that grampas died in, baby trolleys. I think I'm gonna make me house out of all those dead things, one of these days.

“You’re cold, right? I can see you shaking like a leaf. Want my jacket? No? That’s alright. You ain’t gonna be cold for long. Mind if I smoke?”

Click-cli-click.

Fffft.

 

“Want a drag? No, of course you don’t. Then again, I wouldn’t have let you have it either way. Not after you tried biting my fingers off the last time. Gotta hand it to you though. You got some strong jaws on you. I bet you very nearly bit bone. It’s okay, though, I forgive you. It’s not your fault you’re here, after all. Well actually it kinda is, isn’t it? 

“Look. I’m gonna pull the gag off you. Gonna let you talk, okay? I don’t like talking by myself and I don’t think it’s humane to kill a person without them having a shot at a couple last words. But I need you to promise me you won’t scream. ‘Cause I swear to God, you scream and I’ll just stick this thing right here in your eyeball and that’ll be all.

“Theeere you go…it’s off. How does it feel? Any better? I bet it is. Try and move your jaws a little bit, wiggle your tongue in your mouth, wet it a little. Don’t push yourself. Not gonna talk, are you?”

Ptoo!

“Heh. Sure as hell beats you sitting quiet over there. Gives you comfort, thinking that you fought back. Lot of people did that. Some just spat on me. Others…they tried harder. Didn’t make much of a difference. One sec.”

Flick.

Pssstt.

“I don’t want this to hurt. I’ve never wanted to hurt anybody. They told me I should do some horrible things to you, but I’m not gonna do them. Not just ‘cause you’re pretty. I’m not gonna do them because nobody deserves that. I’m gonna use this, okay? I’m going to stick it up your jaw, through the roof of your mouth and into your brain. You’re only gonna feel a pinch, I swear on my mother’s soul. Okay? Then your troubles will be over for good and you won’t have to worry about anything. How does that sound?

“Awful. It sounds awful. I’m an idiot for thinking that it would make you feel better. So I’m just gonna do it. Unless you’ve got something to say first, of course. I can’t deny you that.”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please don’t…please…”

“That’s not helping any, love.”

“Don’t kill me, please, I’m pr-“

Slick.

“I know, love. I know.”

Jar-pet

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How Frappuchino Destroyed The World

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Before he became Absolute Satrap of Earth and Imperial Coffee-Lord in Service to the Nur’Faxian Imperium, Lloyd Layton was a mediocre, eternally embittered employee of StarBurst coffee shops, seemingly doomed to a life of anonymity.

Perhaps, if the Nur’Faxians hadn’t stumbled on the Pioneer space vessel and had not discovered absolute proof of the existence of another sentient (though extremely backward) species, he would have remained so. It is entirely possible (the last free savants of mankind speculated, as they shared a spit-roasted rat in their underground bunkers) that Lloyd would have lived alone, unloved and without a retinue of slaves in his command, without even a single piece of property in his name. In fact (and to this they all agreed) Lloyd would have died in the manner that he had lived, his last words a bitter soliloquy, addressed to his herd of cats milling around his bed, his final wisdom lost to their animalistic brains.

But, as history would have it, Lloyd had to be the only employee chosen to service the Nur’Faxians on behalf of the StarBurst Corporation to greet and provide caffeinated beverages to the representatives of mankind’s soon-to-be overlords. He had been hand-picked by a special UN committee, chosen for his average intelligence, his lack of enthusiasm but above all, his ability to make a decent venti cup of Caramel Frapuccino Latte with mocha sprinkles.

This had taken place in the impossibly short span of 8 hours, during which SETI received a mathematical acknowledgement from the Nur’Faxians, which roughly translated to ‘HELLO THERE, MIND IF WE COME OVER?’ which was followed by a primitive white-noise radio response that the future lords of the Earth took as a yes.

The Nur’Faxian delegates had materialized in the middle of Times Square 3 hours later, causing some considerable havoc. Lloyd of course missed this history-altering news-flash, by virtue of having slept in. He was awakened three hours later by his manager, who was screaming at him that he was needed on duty right now and was to haul his sorry behind over the counter to serve the Nur’Faxian delegation.

Lloyd Layton.

The Nur’Faxians had been drawn to the minimalistic design of the hundred-foot-high StarBurst ad set in the middle of Times Square and had immediately requested for coffee-based beverages.

And so, Lloyd Layton was provided a fully armed escort and was led into an APC vehicle, where he was hailed by a four-star general who called him ‘Sir’ (even though a 6-year-old knew better than to call Lloyd that) and briefed him extensively on the nature of his mission. Lloyd only picked at his nose and nodded through the briefing, his sleep-addled brain struggling to make sense out of the situation.

The armored convoy drove through eight evacuated city blocks at top speed, reaching Lloyd’s place of work in less than ten minutes. Secret Service Agents had arranged to remove all employees and StarBurst customers from the premises almost an hour ago, to secure the area for the arrival of the President of the United States himself, on his way from the capital just for this occasion. Lloyd discovered (to his amazement) that his counter had been cleaned for him almost to a mirror-shine and that his coffee, whip cream and syrup supply had been re-stocked completely. 

“Just make the coffees son and try your best to stay quiet.” the four-star general told Lloyd, before clapping him once on the shoulder and assuming his appointed position inside an M104 Wolverine tank, inconspicuously parked just down the street.

In the time it took the Nur’Faxian delegation to complete their window-shopping spree before finally reaching the StarBurst shop, Lloyd had helped himself to the freshest bagel on display and stuffed his pockets with tip money, grinning his best grin to the Secret Service Agent that looked down on him, his scowl unwavering. Lloyd was halfway through updating his FaceSpace status, when the door chimed its grating happy chime and the Nur’Faxian delegation hovered inside the shop toward Lloyd, their giraffe-like necks craning around, examining every nook and cranny of this brave new franchise.

Lloyd mustered his happiest little grin under the circumstances and muttered in his least-terrified tone of voice:

“Hi, my name is Lloyd and welcome to Starburst. Can I take your order?”

“Yes, Lloyd-of-StarBurst. We would like to try a coffee-based beverage.” Said the Nur’Faxian delegate in a perfect reproduction of the Queen’s English.

“Is there anything you would like in particular?” Lloyd asked, his eyes transfixed on the shimmering gasses that were released from the slits on the Nur’Faxian delegate’s neck andthe tiny pair of seemingly non-functional limbs that extended from beneath his chin and rubbed it in a thoughtful manner.

“We saw the effigy to your Venti-Caramel-Frapuccino-with-mocha-sprinkles. We would wish to try that.”

Had the Nur’Faxian delegates chosen Lloyd to make them some other beverage from StarBurst’s extensive menu, perhaps a Cappuccino Affogato, a Café Bombon or even an Espressino, then perhaps the Earth would have been spared their iron fist and millions would not have been forced to toil under the rule of Lloyd Layton. However, this would require one to extend his suspension of disbelief to the point where he’d be convinced there was some sort of justice in the Universe.

Instead, they ordered for half a dozen of the stuff and watched with awe as Lloyd poured the half-congealed, crystallized, caffeinated goo into the transparent plastic cups, topped them with majestic whipped-cream domes, adorned those domes with caramel trails on which he sprinkled mocha with the same reverence that a Renaissance painter would reproduce the Madonna’s grieving countenance.

The aliens studied the strange beverages with fascination, running the tips of their long, multi-jointed fingers across the condensation of the cup. They struggled with the bendy, primitive tube contraptions that stuck out of the cream-summits and slipped their long, forked tongues through the plastic rings in the tops of the cups, tentatively tasting the sweetness sprinkled on top of them. After a few minutes of stuggling with these contraptions and some gentle goading by Lloyd, the Nur’Faxians finally managed to take their first few sips of Earth coffee.

The change wrought upon the delegates by the caffeine was sudden and very, very drastic. On the first gulp, the half-dozen alien delegate’s necks snapped up tightly with a whoosh! 

On the second gulp, their skins turned the color of fish-bellies reflecting the sunlight.

On the third gulp, just as the Secret Service agent was about to dial NASA, the Pentagon and his family just so he could say his final goodbyes, the Nur’Faxian delegates grinned a lizard-like grin, all teeth and gums.

The head of the delegation (a Nur’Faxian with a significantly longer and ribbed neck) asked Lloyd, who had crawled behind the counter:

“What a marvelous substance! Such a miraculous concoction! Tell me, Lloyd-of-StarBust-Coffee, have you more of it?”

“Yeah, man.” Lloyd muttered, rising up from the counter, transfixed by two-dozen pairs of eyes. “I got tons here.”

 

“Then bring us more of this Venti-Caramel-Frapuccino-with-mocha-sprinkles!”

“Aye!” the delegates said, rapping their fingers on the table in anticipation. Lloyd, spurred on by their enthusiasm (his own tempered by the terror growing in his gut) produced more of the gooey caffeinated goodness they asked for and brought it over.

“Tell us, Lloyd-of-StarBurst-Coffee, do you make this beverage yourself?”

“No, I just work here. But I’ve been doing this for a while, so I’ve gotten good at it, I guess.”

“How long have you been studying and preparing this magnificent concoction, Lloyd-of-StarBurst-Coffe?”

“I don’t know, about two years, I guess.”

The delegates turned to each other and began conversing in the raspy tones of their mother-tongue, translating the Earthly span of seven hundred and thirty days into Nur’Faxian rils, shuuls and sbubs. After a long and heated debate, the alien delegates finally turned to Lloyd and said:

“That is a very short time for a man to master the ways of drink.”

“Guess I’m just that good at it, then.” Lloyd lied. His served beverage was mostly created by a machine, packaged and frozen and stored in the shop’s tanks weeks in advance by underpaid Argentinian workers. All he really did was simply add some extra whip-cream and about a teaspoon of extra caramel sauce to drown out the taste of their spit in the brew. The Nur’Faxias were thankfully unaware of that.

“We would be interested in introducing this elixir to our homeworld and our Colonies, Lloyd-of-StarBurst-Coffee. In fact, we would be willing to provide the man who would give up its secrets with an emperor’s ransom.”

“That so?” Lloyd said and his eyes gleamed with a malice that he hadn’t experienced since the first time he’d dropped a toad down Amy Donovan’s blouse back in third grade. The Secret Service agent looked over, his hand reaching for his gun. “Like, what would you do, for the coffee?”

“What would you ask of us, Lloyd-Of-StarBurst-Coffee?” asked the Nur’Faxian delegate, immobilizing the Secret Service agent in an invisible force field with a flick of his wrist.

“Well, um, a better counter, for starters?” Lloyd hazarded.

“You will have a hundred thousand slaves to brew your elixir in your stead, conditioned to prepare it according to your specifications.”

“Well if I’ve got like, a hundred thousand slaves, I guess that’d mean I would have everybody who worked for StarBurst Coffee in my command.”

“Then that is what you shall have.” The Nur’Faxian head delegate said, flashing his grin at Lloyd, who pressed his advantage.

“In that case, I’d need a nice place to live. Like, a mansion or like maybe a private island, to watch over the, um, brewing operations?”

“You will be provided with an anti-grav palace, staffed with the finest pleasure-slaves in our Empire. D’Ruuk, show Beverage-Lord Lloyd what he’ll be getting.”

One of the delegates (his neck adorned with a series of platinum rings) produced a three-dimensional image of a multi-breasted, scantily-clad Nur’Faxian beauty. Her charms were, however, lost to Lloyd’s mammalian brain.

“Um, I’d rather have some human women, you know?”

“Who would you prefer? A starlet of Earth? A swimsuit model? A perfect organic automaton, painstakingly recreated in the semblance of the limbless Venus-of-Milo? Our study of your planet’s informational super-highway has given us great knowledge of your species' tastes.”

“Nah, I’d rather have Becky White” Lloyd said, the name of his high school cheerleader ex leaving his lips before he had time to even think it. With a scan of his mind and a clap of the Nur’Faxian delegation’s hands, Becky materialized beside him, dressed in the two-sizes-too-small outfit of her glory days, twelve years older and thirty pounds heavier.

“Lloyd? Lloyd Layton? What the hell are you doing here? And who are you with? Oh my God, are those the aliens from-” Becky began but was suddenly silenced with a telepathic command.

“Would you have anything more, Lloyd of the Laytons?”

“Do I?” Lloyd said, running behind the counter and going through his duffel bag, where he kept his little diary of people he wanted killed, stuff he wanted done and things he desired but never had enough money for. In it were the names of school bullies (now grown drunkards or eternally grieving family men), degrees, awards and nominations for things he had never gotten around to doing (but considered himself worthy of anyway) and rows upon rows of material goods that he secretly knew he would never find any use for (yet had desperately needed).

“They are all yours” the Nur’Faxians said, producing those things before Lloyd, placing them on his feet. Lloyd’s knees went weak at the sight of them and he stuttered, as he brought more Frapuccinos over in exchange:

 

“You got yourselves a deal.”

The Nur’Faxians nodded in assent, conversed in their mother-tongue a little bit longer and then said:

“You understand, of course, that we will require vast amounts of this beverage. The Nur’Faxian Empire spans nearly two galaxies and we number in the quintillions. We will require Earth to produce vast amounts of the coffee to sate our appetites.”

“Um” Lloyd managed, his mind struggling with the vastness of consumer demand laid on his feet. “I don’t know if we could manage that, man, I mean we only make this in Brazil or Argentina or someplace, we’d need like, two planets’ worth of the stuff to even begin to cover all this need for coffee.”

“Worry not your exalted head, Lloyd of the Laytons. My colleagues have drawn a simple, yet efficient plan: we will turn your planet into a vast coffee plantation, after draining the oceans and ridding it of any unnecessary fauna and flora. Two percent of the Earth’s surface will be left untouched, to cover for the habitation needs of your subjects.”

Lloyd thought it over, but for the life of him (even as he looked into the wide, terrified eyes of Becky and ignored the muffled pleas of his enemies), found that he could not honestly care for the blight that he was about to bring upon his own species. Suddenly, it hit him:

“Yeah, but where will I live? I’m gonna need some space, man.”

“Your planet has a sizeable moon. We will adjust it according to your specifications. We trust this is alright with you?”

Lloyd thought of the magnificent view from his domed moon-palace, the sight of Earth ruined, broken and conditioned to fulfill his every command and reached out to shake the hands of his benefactors. Their long fingers had locked around his palm, squeezing it gently yet firmly, when the President of the United States came through the door with his personal security detail. He stopped the sight of Lloyd, the alien delegates and the mound of crumbling gadgets that was massed in the back of the store. Finally, he managed a high-pitched, hysterical:

“Just what the hell’s going on here, gentlemen?”

…before he and his detail were turned into miles of red, glistening ribbons with a snap of the delegates’ fingers.

The takeover of Earth was over in a matter of minutes. The Nur’Faxian battle-fleet materialized in LaGrange space, bombarded Earth’s major population centers, neutralized mankind’s nuclear capability and had teleported ground troops to pick off two-thirds of the population by 2 PM, Greenwich Mean Time.

Terraforming of the Earth’s Moon was completed within two days, while the draining of the oceans and the re-location of the remaining third of mankind was completed by the end of July, in time for Independence Day. 

And Lloyd Layton, who found himself reclining on his baby-sealskin couch from his vantage point on the Sea of Tranquility, looking down at the planet-wide coffee crops, manned by the last surviving members of his species, did not for one moment stop to consider the magnitude of his treason toward his kind and his planet.

He sipped instead at his Venti Frapuchino, ran his fingers through Becky White’s hair (who had grown silent and much more cooperative since her regulation lobotomy) and thought how he had finally come out on top, the way he had always thought he deserved.

   

What I Think About Stuff-things I'll Do When I Grow Up: Rise And Fall (an Introduction)

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Hug a tiger. Hope to God it gets the joke.

What I Think About Stuff-Things I’m Gonna Do When I Grow Up: Rise and Fall

The idea of one day writing for comic books had always been a dream for me, but it mostly consisted of lots of awards that I’d receive for stuff I hadn’t even thought off (or written down) yet. I had no plan, no outline, no goddamn clue, but I knew one thing for certain:

When I grew up, I was gonna write superhero comics.

Superheroes, as I explained before, were well-known but obscure in Greece. Sure, you could watch the X-Men Saturday morning cartoon, but you had to quit that shit the time you became 13. You were a man, see, and your only interests should revolve around beer, knives, tits and soccer.

Then the Avengers came along and now everybody wants to play at being a fucking nerd. Well you know what, Panos? Fuck you, you hypocritical piece of dogshit. You wanna play at being a nerd so you can perhaps pick up nerdy chicks? You wanna be all edgy by watching tentacle porn and making Game Of Thrones-inspired incest jokes? Feel free, dickwad!

But you’ll always know, in your heart of hearts, that you suck at it.

The idea of actually sitting my ass down and forming a coherent comic book idea happened only a few years ago, during my service in the Army. I had only recently re-met Lio in the barracks (even though I hadn’t seen him for over 2 years by that time) and I had been pleased as punch to meet a fellow nerd.

Apparently, the sergeant on duty noticed how well we were getting along together and decided we should immediately head to the guard post, to sit like jackasses and wave our guns around at the surrounding countryside.

Pictured: danger, lurking at every corner.

It was at that moment, as soon as the duty sergeant left, that Lio turned to me and said:

“We should make a comic book”

“WE SHOULD TOTALLY MAKE A COMIC BOOK!” I screamed back.

We got stuck on guard duty for nearly 5 hours, on account of the post being on the ass-end of the unit and the fact that near half our squad was on shore leave. It was during those 5 hours that we began tossing around ideas. Lio wanted to make a WW2 comic book. I said why not WW3. Lio said he wanted to make it gorey as fuck. I said why not add a super-powered hulk of a man in there? Lio said he always wanted to draw superheroes. I told him I always wanted to write superheroes.

5 hours and half an army tour later, I began writing down the first draft of Rise and Fall. 

Churning out page after page after page of setting details, character designs and concepts...

Then I looked upon my work real closely, weighed it in the folds of my mind and thought:

“Oh wow, that’s a load of fucking horseshit!”

The majority of the notes were subsequently trashed. Of the original concept, only 10% remained and even that 10% was reworked to invoke a semblance of reason and some (if any) narrative reasoning.

I’ve reworked the story, time and time again in the last 3 years and right now, I’m feeling absolutely comfortable with presenting a super-idealized version of it to the internet, in the vain hope that someone other than me and Lio might give half a tug of a dead dog’s cock about it.

So put on your spandex and make whoosh noses with your mouth because this is…

MY AWESOME COMIC BOOK OUTLINE THAT I MIGHT EVEN GET TO PUBLISH ONE DAY (Part One)

  

o sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

So what the hell is Rise And Fall, anyway?

Rise and Fall is a dream superhero comic book project of mine, presented as a 6-issue comic book miniseries. It’s also essentially a tour guide to a fictional universe, a brief historical outline of that Universe and a cynical look into the Overman.

 â€œDuuurrr…dis sounds like dat Watchmen comic book…” Why thank you, you clueless fucking asshole that’s so quick to pass judgement…

Rise and Fall started off as the idea of presenting the adventures of a C-list superhero team as they found themselves caught in situations that were way above their heads and finally managed to save the world. But that would make this comic book a direct rip-off of Doom Patrol and I wasn’t going to do that.

But the idea of C-List superheroes fascinated me endlessly and I always considered it to be the mortar from which every great superhero springs. Remember, kids: people wouldn’t have liked Superman all that much if it hadn’t been for Booster Gold and the Blue Beetle there to act the helpless asshole. Also, Batman would probably not have been as intriguing a character for all those years had he not been surrounded by a roster of side-characters.

A minor, unimportant character who deals in smaller threats is much more limited in scope, thus requiring a much more interesting mythos. Sure, Superman knows Kryptonian kung-fu

A made-up bullshit martial art made by a desperate writer in the 60’s can go a looong way…

But he’s also the strongest, fastest and toughest motherfucker in the known universe. But what about the guy who only knows kung fu, or the man who can talk to machines? Has anyone ever stopped to consider the intricacies of, perhaps a character who’s a tough (but not Hulk-tough) zombie?

The short answer is no. The long answer is: no, because it’s way too hard to create a mythos that will maintain a reader’s interest.

Now, for the sake of convenience, I am going to break this article into a series, which will updated whenever I feel like it. But it’s here that I will detail the mythos that backs Rise And Fall, which will then allow me to delve in detail into the characters and their intricacies.

So without further ado, I give you…

The world of Rise and Fall:

 All this and more, in 180 pages or less!

My first concern when I was trying to turn the setting of Rise and Fall into a coherent whole was: how far do I want to stray from actual history? Lots of people toss this idea around, of what would happen if the Nazis won? What if China had risen to world domination in the 15^th century? What if Alexander the Great had lived to a ripe old age? 

What if Ifs and Buts was candies and nuts?

Make no mistake: Alternate History, despite its glamour and popularity, is balls-hard. Sure, everybody can just nod their heads and go “Yeah, a story about Nazis having won the war sounds pretty cool!” but there are a couple of things most people do not take into consideration.

First, Nazis winning the war would have meant we would all have been fucked up the ass and then gassed since birth, you stupid shits.

Secondly, Germany could never have won the war, because it was a land-locked country, fighting a war of attrition against everybody everywhere. The defeat of the Third Reich was a given and a matter of time, from the moment the Allied Forces began to actually give half a shit.

Altering real-world history means that you need to account for the myriad intricacies that come up during the alteration. It also means that you need to account for changes in economics, diplomacy and culture. 

Slapping swastikas on the White House front can only take you so far…

In short, do not alter history unless you’re some history super-nerd and know what you are doing. But the very presence of superhumanity should alter history in many ways, just not overt ones.

Back in my MiracleMan review, I explained how the OverMan needs to be responsible toward his fellow men and make the world a better place. However, what must be taken into consideration is that the OverMan cannot just make everything happen with a snap of his fingers.

The X-Men writers have done the trope of ‘mankind fears change’ to death, but it is the only sound and realistic trope in superhero fiction. People will, at least at first, be deathly afraid of those flying invincible bastards that just crash into their houses and plain old offer them ‘unlimited free energy’.

And they probably won’t vote monomaniacal superintelligent mass murderers for President either.

So how have Rise and Fall’s OverMen changed the world? How has the world grown used to them?

The answer is: they’ve grown side by side.

Rise and Fall’s cosmology was made with the assumption that mankind and superhumanity have always existed across history. A small number of mythical superhumans in prehistory, with their numbers growing along with mankind’s across history.

It’s during the first decade of the 20^th century, when superhuman population experiences a significant boom, brought about not by some cosmic conspiracy, but more out of human meddling.

Allow me to explain: Rise and Fall assumes that superhuman powers are genetic. Yes, this is a tired old trope that has been abused way past the point where it’s keeled over and died but let me ask you something. 

Has anyone ever taken it literally?

 i.e. actually considered it as an honest-to-God mutation, occurring in the womb?

The idea of genetic mutation=superpowers in Rise and Fall assumes that there are more superhumans in racial groups that are more numerous. In other words, no, not every superhuman ever is a US citizen. In fact, most of them (and in fact the most powerful among them) are Chinese.

Super-powered communists? In my comicbook?

I’m afraid so. The idea behind Rise and Fall is that mankind has always lived side by side with superhumanity but also in mortal fear of them. They have been hunted, persecuted and finally, assimilated in the general population. Superhumanity in this series is a one in ten million possibility and is therefore considered amazing, but otherwise accepted.

No superhuman has ever of course been elected in office, but they are still movers and shakers in human civilization. They’ve allowed the world to progress further than our own. The setting assumes that we also have lots of cool stuff and near-indestructible architectural polymers, but mankind isn’t yet walking around in silvery form-fitting shoots and shooting with lame-ass laser guns at each other.

Here’s looking at you, Star Trek.

But you didn’t come here for demographics and tech levels, did you? You came here to find out…

What’s wrong with the setting, bub?

Move along, biped. Nothing to see here

Well, the main premise behind Rise and Fall is that the world, that has known and grown used to superhumanity’s struggles and the clashes of heroes and villains alike, no longer has any need for them. Regular human beings have long since developed ways and means to incapacitate and imprison michievious superhumans and they have created contingencies allowing them to deal with most superhuman-related problems.

The world is ticking away like a well-oiled grandfather clock and well…nobody really gives a damn about flying weirdos in spandex anymore. 

 Aside from the occasionalextinction-level threat.

But it’s been nearly two decades since the last Cosmic Conjencture.

Imagine, if you will, a world that is plagued by order. Imagine shining cities, protected by invisible barriers made out of meshes of energy, protecting them from threats. Imagine armies of men, equipped with weapons of such ferocity that they can withstand any form of alien assault. Imagine a ring of satellites, orbiting Earth, controlling the weather to suit their creators’ needs. 

A shining orb, powered by the near-limitless energy of its own core.

Now think of impossible fortresses in the Antarctic, long since abandoned. Think of giant robots with positronic brains, gathering dust in a secret hangar. Think of a penthouse at the top of the world, manned by a single man who watches the city below him live and breathe in peace, without any need of his services. Think of a shining silver sea that exists sideways from our reality, where a single sentinel waits for threats that may never come.

Think of Ouija boards, their lettering long since faded.

Think of crowns made out of unworldly materials, buried at the bottom of old toy-chests.

The world of Rise and Fall is a world that has outgrown its superhumans. It’s a world that’s wondrous without any need for monthly feats of strength, no longer awed by alien visitors or half-mad billionaire playboys.

Now think of a small number of superhumans that have decided to turn this whimper into a bang.

But more of that in part 2.