the Pride of Bridgeville

(1) Puck: Toronto

2010-02-07T10:06:00.000-08:00

A lonely man walks the night away down city streets.

Eugene Judd, recently single, occasionally low on self-esteem... a feeling that, despite his soaring spirit, finds its way into his psyche once in a while. I suppose that makes him normal...

She ended it. Not because of looks, or because he's a dwarf. It was a mild clash of personalities that made her believe that they were better off just being friends.

In a day or two, maybe even a week since she had a certain laugh that he loved, Judd will shake off the malaise and move on. Tonight's his night to wallow, though, and since it happens so rarely, he subsumes it, treating these emotions like they're exotic foreigners who have interesting stories to tell.

Eugene Judd has known such tremendous pain in his life that such frivolous dramas do little to affect him in any significant way.

Physically, his body has been twisted into dwarfism by, first, a sinister magic, and then by a noble guardianship of that beast. It wracks him with knifelike spasms most days, but it's his special burden to bear.

Psychologically, images of lost friends creep out of the corners in his mind and haunt him, the sight of their tearful blood cradled on battlefields and back alleys.

Emotionally, the unrequited love of the one woman he's ever pined for still, to this day, plucks that sorrowful chord deep down, it's sad note resonating throughout his soul. Heather... married to a great friend of his and forever bound to THAT love.

So... A sweet girl from Thunder Bay's "Dear John" phone call can hardly scratch the surface of Eugene Judd's pain threshold.

He walks, though, and each step pumps an ounce of life back into his deflated spirit. It's become dark out, the time slipping past smoothly. Having lived in Toronto since last Spring, Judd's familiar enough with the city to notice when something's amiss. And here on Crammer Street half the small time storefronts are dark. A sense of uneasiness seems to pour from it's alleys. Judd pauses at a corner.

Intuitively he simply watches...

Nothing too bad, but still, there is a problem here, and, seeking answers, he enters one of the few open establishments.

Judd: Evening. Glad to see you're open, eh.
Clerk: (his bad mood apparent through his professional response) Evening. What can I do for you?
Judd: Well... let's see... you're a hardware store. I mean, THIS is a hardware store. You're a clerk, eh. (He grins coyly hoping to elicit a response)
Clerk: (blandly) Yep.
Judd: Say, pal... Can't help but notice... things'r kinda quiet around here tonight. On the street, I mean. Did someone die? (Immediately Eugene cringes at his thoughtless remark! Of course... the best bet is exactly that. Someone from the neighborhood has passed away and he just glibly danced on their grave).

Clerk: (not eager to play along) Look... I got alot to do. You need to buy something, buy something. 'Don't need browsers here tonight, friend.
Judd: Hey, I'm sorry, pal. Didn't mean any harm.

Outside, down the street a ways, glass shatters. Hustling over to the doorway, both Eugene and the clerk peer out. Thirty feet away three men walk off in the night, leaving a bewildered shop owner to tend to the damage scattered on the sidewalk.

Judd: Well I'll be damned. You're being PINCHED. That right? Some tough guy leaning on you folks?
Clerks: I paid my share... I get to stay open tonight. Me, and a few others. Marty over there... ain't so lucky.
Judd: Oh, I don't know about that. What can you tell me about them?
Clerk: (incredulous) Are you nuts? How about nothin'.
Judd: Ah.. is that part of the agreement then? They steal your cash and you get to sit pretty and take it, eh? Doesn't sound like a fair shake.
Clerk: What's fair got to do with it? Can't afford to relocate, can't afford to retire. Cops don't care. Mayor's probably on the take. Most of us, we have to make do with what we got. We ain't like you "superheroes".
Judd: (surprised) Super--? Hahaha. That's good. You watch the news, eh. Well, you probably heard that we're out of the superhero racket these days. Doesn't mean we still can't make a difference. Tell you what, you tell me what you know and I swear... I'll make a difference. (his smile is infectious, genuine)

The clerk, incredulous still, takes a chance on Puck, and spills the beans...

-end (1)

(2) Puck: Toronto

2010-02-07T10:05:00.000-08:00

In that "bad part of town" that every major metropolis seems to have, Eugene Judd has finally caught up to his quarry.

Two nights ago he took up a cause to rid at least one neighborhood of their bad apples, and there bellow him, on the sidewalk, passing under streetlights, three thugs make their way back to their den.

Those men, thieves of the timid, had a pretty good score this evening. The former Alphan could've stopped them before they started but better to let them walk a broad trail to the ones who call the shots.

Tracking them was hard in the big city, for Puck didn't want the bustling winter crowd to see him. A cold front from the North helped clear the streets though, and a few rooftop subway car rides later avenues of solitude offer him more substantial hiding places.

A warehouse. "Typical", he thought. He wondered what other mobster clichés these clowns were good for. Puck scales the corrugated steel riddled with rust in order to gain the high ground, as it were. From above, he creeps along the heights until an opening can be convinced to squeeze him through. Tucking his trench coat into the crawlspace, Puck finished suiting up for action. Outfitted in black kevlar, accentuated with his trademark orange "P" along the front, he ambles downward until he lands softly on the second floor loft. Voices from nearby tell him that there are about five men in a room down the hall. Learning long ago never to leap before he looked, Judd searches for a way to better assess the situation.

To climb on top of it would be too risky. Old buildings like this enjoyed creaking at every opportunity, and so, instead he continues to probe for an opening, getting closer and closer to the door with each failed survey. He glances again toward the railing that opens the main part of the warehouse up from floor to ceiling and sees no threats from outside the busy, well lit room. He was about to peer through the tiny keyhole when a shift in the planks, slight as it was, warns him that someone from inside was about to exit. No other options present, Puck flattens himself in the corner as the door flies open, in effect, hiding him from view. A surge of comic relief strikes him at that moment and he turns to look through the door jam near his face. Six men had been in the room. One just left while the others mill around an accountant's table. Crumpled bills are spread out, but Puck sees no weapons... undoubtedly all concealed on the goons.

Stan the Goon: (looking up) Close the damn door, you horse's ass!
Roger the Crook: (walking away down the hall, over his shoulder) Aw, get bent!
Stan the Goon: Jimmy, get the door.

Seizing the moment, Puck slams the sturdy oak ingress closed on poor Jimmy's face. Just as quickly as he shut it though, the Alphan whips it open again, barrelling aggressively into the stunned room. Bounding over Jimmy's writhing body, Puck escorts three others from consciousness before anyone else can even spit out their expletives. One of the casualties of his assault, a broken chair offers up a detached leg for use against the remaining criminals. Five powerful strokes later the last two join the others on the floor.

Working quickly, Puck begins to stuff scattered money into a black pouch. He hears shouting from outside the room and silently curses. Too many new voices and thumping footsteps for this to be a cakewalk. Though he detests guns, Judd grabs one off a fallen thug and fires five shots into the open air outside the room. This will buy him time, as the reinforcements have to halt for fear of being hit... a good bluff. Puck prefers subduing his opponents the OLD, old fashioned way. In a flash, he's gathered up everything of value the room has to offer, including money, wallets and firearms and sets off through the doorway. Bullets zip past him, nipping at his fightsuit but taking no real bites into flesh.

Bounding up and into the shadowy rafters, Eugene has just struck a first blow against this small time pack of wolves. Escaping into the frigid night Puck delights in the rush.

A block away now, he watches the commotion surrounding the warehouse, taking mental notes and calculating forces. The operation's slightly larger than he'd hoped, but with the right plan, shouldn't be a problem. What he's most concerned about is how deep this thing runs. If police and politicians are involved it could escalate beyond his hopes and fears. All he wants is to do good by the honest folks carving out their living... nobody should have to wage a war just so they can break even.

On cue, a squad car pulls up without it's reds and blues flashing. A sure sign that they're there to secretly lend support to the enterprise, not to answer a distress call. A garage door opens greeting the officers with bloodied noses and angry body language. The cold weather captures their breath in steamy fits, and they all go inside.

Indignation rises, and the thought of innocent store owners fan flames inside Eugene Judd. This was supposed to be a probing mission. Gather info, knock a few heads together, take some guns off the streets, recoup some of the lost money... but something's changed. It's not enough. Puck removes the loaded pouch that's a part of his outfit, drops it on the rooftop and steps forward toward the ledge. In the background, Toronto's bright lights gleam in the frosty air. Directly before him, the warehouse taunts him, and he remembers, with a wide grin, that he's left his trench coat inside...

-end (2)

(3) Puck: Toronto

2010-02-07T09:50:00.000-08:00

He's crept along the dirty streets of Toronto's underbelly, making his way smoothly to the police car parked outside the dingy den of thieves, and now Puck prepares for the confrontation soon to follow. Pulling a small blade from his fightsuit, the skilled slugger relieves all four tires of their air, and, wheezing out in pathetic hisses they fall flat, disabling the vehicle.

Puck shuffles up to the warehouse and revisits the path he took to the roof minutes ago so as to gain entry once again. Other spots offered easier access to the high ground, but this way gave the tactician an escape were the enemy lucky enough to spot him. A mere moment later he completes a tricky tumble and is securely in place up above.

Squeezing through an opening, Puck recovers the trench coat he had placed in the crawl space and delicately crawls into position for reconnaissance.

Nineteen men in all... a few of them bloody & woozy, all of them agitated, buzz around the main area of the building like hornets who just had their hive TPed. It takes him 22 seconds to choreograph the impending fight, and if it goes right... well, it'll go right.

Two thugs lean against the second floor rail not far from the infamous room. They're the first act, the dance has just begun.

From the shadowy rafters Puck's ghostly image rides gravity's tug down hard onto the shoulders of the two unsuspecting men, sending all three crashing through the wooden railing, down into the light. Holding their collars, Puck ensures a non fatal landing on top of the nearest car's rooftop... Pain, followed by unconsciousness, is the preferred result, and with tremendous dexterity objective number one is met.

Without a wasted movement Puck launches from the car, letting momentum toss him through the air into the dumbfounded band of criminals. Like an adept bullfighter, his trench coat flapping grandly at his side, Puck flies over the next closest victim, lassoing his terrified face in the cotton jacket, while he moves on to greater threats. By now guns are being drawn, but, already seeing five moves into the brawl, Puck's began mopping up the floor with the clumsy creeps. His barrel roll sends two bouncing chin first, their legs taken out from under them, awkwardly to the cement, and squeezing every drop he can from the second floor thrust, Puck ricochet's off the garage door and back toward the trench coat. Poor Jimmy had just freed himself of the snare when the lightning fast Alphan returned to his corner of the universe. His finale isn't scripted until later, though... eight moves from now, in fact, and so Puck takes what miniscule time he has with each action to snare the falling coat and fling it toward a dangerously close gun wielder. That man's balance upset just enough, Puck first dispatches another oaf with a flying jump kick, then rolls up for a debilitating uppercut to the gun toter's nether region.

Had the remaining wannabe mobsters stayed awake in the following seconds, they would no doubt sympathize with Stan the Goon as he slumped to the floor. Instead, catching his gun Puck hurls it into the crooked cop's face across the room, buying precious seconds before any one of the remaining cons could fire a shot.

It all came down to this, though, the trickiest part of his preplanned dance. It's inevitable, that with upwards of nineteen opponents, that sooner or later they will draw guns, and they will get a bead. And for as skilled, and as quick as Eugene Judd is, dodging bullets can only happen in short, LUCKY spurts... and this setup isn't geared toward that scenario. He must get in close, draw them into a bear-your-soul, back alley slugfest.

The pistol that smashed Copper number one's nose into a dozen different angles clinks to the deck as Puck slams meaty knuckles into the second fuzzball's right cheek. His hat sails happily off while he greets his colleague on the other side of consciousness.

Judd's best hopes came true as two men with pistols aimed held their fire for fear of striking their Police buddies. There'll be more guns drawn soon enough unless he can get the last eleven to commit to close quarters fighting. Without pause Puck hurls himself at the gunmen, eyes tight, straining to sense their tendons flex in the firing motion. Two bullets from two separate angles eject from their muzzles, sending the Alphan desperately into the air. Contact is avoided, as planned, and he crashes sidelong into both perpetrators. The impact isn't enough to knock them out, but the all important grappling phase has, thankfully come.

A tangle of arms twist for dominance to the tune of eleven to one and Puck grins. The coy smile turns into an malevolent snarl as the Diminutive Destroyer shifts it into overdrive.

His size works to his advantage, causing the others to adjust their styles and stances. Puck, on the otherhand...

Within eight seconds four thugs lay holding bruised faces, drifting in and out of consciousness. Another two hear and feel their knees pop painfully out of joint. They could've charged admission, for the show Puck put on would've brought in more money than a month's worth of shakedowns.

Finished now, and admittedly slightly out of breath, the Hero secured the site, assuring himself of prolonged advantage by gathering guns and knives and, truth be told, willpower from the tattered enclosure. Those who were awake wanted no more. They wanted medical treatment more than anything. And, most certainly they recognized their righteous assailant... confirmed it really... as a member of the recently defunct Alpha Flight.

Gathered neatly, in relative terms, nineteen defeated goons groan in the center of the spacious room like a dysfunctional triage unit, moaning and taking inventory of teeth while Puck prepares for tonight's finale'.

He needs to know how deep this ring goes and his first interviewee is an obvious choice. Grabbing the more groggy of the two bad Cops, Puck pulls him by the collar roughly to his scowling face. The groggy among us are usually the more truthful... their rattled skulls typically forget about the necessity of lying in certain situations. Ripping the cop's badge off his chest, Puck holds it an inch in front of the man's battered face.

Puck: (spittle flying) Tell me what I wanna know or I'll take this worthless tin and shove it down yer damn throat! See this? Hey! Look at me! Who's callin' the shots here?

Groggy Fuzzball: M'uh... m'uh teef. Y'uh knukt-- (eyes roll back and he slips further into incoherence)

Puck: (inwardly) Ehh, maybe alittle TOO groggy...

Stan the Goon: Save your breath, chump. You got nothing on us.
Puck: Ah! The Accountant! I'll tell ya what I got on you. I know what you creeps do, and YOU know what you creeps do. THAT's what I have on you. And so I'm gonna shake YOU down now, every day, every week... until you beg me to stop. An' I can see it in yer eyes, pal, that you ain't the beggin' kind. So this is gonna be for the long haul. You think you have friends in high places? Think they're pretty scary. Wait 'til you meet MINE. Don't care about cops, don't care about lawyers. You and your boys against me and mine. How does that sound, chump?

From outside, a quick succession of chirps indicate the arrival of Toronto's finest on the scene. A bang at the door, followed by a commanding shout ushers in the last act with a gleam in Puck's eye.

Puck: (winks) Too bad... (over his shoulder) It's open!

Tentatively, and with professional precision, half a dozen police officers file in, guns drawn, faces stern.

Officer Maxwell: Everyone keep your hands where we can see them! Do it! Do it now! Got reports of shots in the area. Saw the cruiser outside with the flat-- what the hell's happening here?

Puck: What's it look like, eh? (thumbs to himself with his left) Superhero... (points to the mess of men on the floor) bad guys... (big grin)

Hours later, Eugene Judd walks the streets again, this time heading home to his downtown flat, flurries landing softly around him. His trenchcoat and cap keep him warm from the late night chill, and his mind loses itself in post-battle analysis, step after step.

He's certain that the fight could've ended 40 seconds sooner had he zigged here rather than zagged there, but he's not going to beat himself up over it. In the end, a budding, small time pack of wolves were taken down, along with their two policemates.

It doesn't look like this ring had much might, yet, but given time it would've expanded from mere thugery to drugrunning, prostitution and general all around misery to the meek.

It feels rewarding... still, he misses the greater good accomplished alongside Michael, and Mac, and Walt... and Heather. He smiles slightly at the the memory of it all. The days Alpha Flight mattered. And he hopes, that eventually he'll get that phonecall, whether from friends or Department H, that Canada needs it's heroes again.

-end

(*this fanfiction story takes place just prior to the events of Alpha Flight, volume 2, circa 1997)

the Day Alpha Flight Died

2010-02-07T09:47:00.000-08:00

A warm lodge stands guarded against snow and approaching night. It‘s a haven from the wintry mix so common in the Sarcee territory this time of year, and inside, soothed by the fireplace light, friends bask in contented solitude.

There is a sense of sadness, however, that permeates the pours of their typical comfort. For, their dear friend, the heartbeat of their tribe, Elizabeth Twoyoungmen, who they’ve known since she was a child, suffers a grief known by far too many souls on this Earth. It is the anniversary of her father’s death, and though their relationship was… rocky at times, she loved him so deeply, as a child should.

Others, too, have made the slow march in for the occasion, heeding Elizabeth’s compulsion, while two in particular, Walter Langkowski and Madison Jeffires have rarely left her side since reuniting last summer.

Outside, the cold nips at Elizabeth’s cheeks and she grasps her fur cloak firmly under her chin. As Talisman she could summon the wind and earth spirits to provide her with a barrier from the worst of it, but tonight she seems to embrace the discomfort… self-inflicted punishment in response to the survivor’s guilt she feels. Still… glad that her extended family remains safe and warm under her watch, a small smiles relieves the frown as she looks on from afar. Then she turns, concentrates, and floats off on a personal mission.

Later, she lands gracefully in a cemetery and approaches two gravestones.

Elizabeth: Hello Mom, Dad. (kneels, touches etching on stone). Someone's brought you flowers. (smiles) I needed more time... with both of you. (she weeps again)

Whispers from obedient spirits tell Talsiman that another person is approaching... a friend.

Liz: (turns) Jean-Paul.
Northstar: (standing nearby in the moonlight) Elizabeth.
Liz: It’s good to see you! You and Aurora came to the village last night…
(Northstar frowns)
Liz: The spirits told me. The others may have promised not to tell me, but the Land Spirits could make no such deal with you (smiles slightly with gratitude in her moist eyes).
Northstar: Your compulsion made me angry... at first. But I'm glad that you still see me, us, as part of your life.
Liz: But why didn't you stay? And Aurora? Why did you leave --
Northstar: (turns) It's complicated... I'm glad you're alright now.

Liz: (awkward pause) eh… what are you and your sister doing these days? (she says, more by way of small talk in order to keep the silence broken)
Northstar: That's complicated, too. I'll leave you to your visit, Liz. Take care of yourself.
Liz: Jean-Paul, why did you -- you could've left without me seeing you tonight. Why didn't you?
Northstar: (considering his repsonse) I'm caught between wanting to stay far away from certain aspects of my past, and wanting to reconnect with others.
Liz: Do you feel guilty? For not being there when they died?
Northstar: No. Should I be? I chose not to be with Alpha Flight. They followed their own destiny so to speak. Aurora, on the otherhand, cried for a month.
Liz: And you? I’m sorry... I didn’t mean that. I’m--
Northstar: Still a brat? (smirks at being able to chide his friend)
Liz: (lights up) Ha. Yes... (They remain in awkward silence)

Hours later, near the village, nestled against mountains and pine trees, with mutual friends at her side, Liz stands outside the entrance of an underground mausoleum. Carefully crafted it’s now ready to be the final resting place of those they lost.

Liz: It is finished. It took great care, but… I've removed the bodies at their original gravesites so that they can be at rest here. Safe.
Marrina: (tears already present before the ceremony has begun) Safe from who?
Logan: Anyone that wants to use them against us. We've seen it happen before, eh?
Liz: (determination in her voice and faith in her role as Master of the Spirits) Not with them. Not as long as I am alive... and then some.
Marrina: Should we wait for Walter?
Madison: He'll be here. Come on, let's go inside.

Snow begins to fall again, and the four friends file inside, candles delicately lighting their way in the warm crypt.

Not far, in terms of kilometers, Sasquatch sits on an overlook alone. The snowfall has reached him now, but, oblivious, the moistened fur around his eyes begins to catch the flakes. He simply stares disbelievingly at the memories in front of his face.

Alpha Flight’s Encounter with the Collective
Responding to an unknown, yet devastating threat, a team of heroes rockets headlong in their sleek jet.

Heather: Right here. It's heading right this way.
Guardian: Okay, set er down, Major. Walt? Anything?
Walt: Not a stinkin’ thing Mac. Too much interference to get a signal from outside agencies at this point. (sparks shoot from a device inside the ship)
Major Mapleleaf: We're on the ground.
Guardian: Zha Zha, take care of that (pointing to a small flame onboard), keep trying to contact the Avengers, or Fantastic Four, or whoever can help, then take up position behind the second tier. Let's go!

Heather: (running alongside of Guardian) Mac? I'm getting enormous readings here.
Guardian: I know it, hon. We don't have a choice. We have to be the front line. If it breaks through we have to hope others will have time to get ready for whatever it is.

The Present
Sasquatch gets up and lumbers away from the overlook. Still grief-stricken as the memory refocuses, he leans on a tree, crying into his arm.

The Encounter
Puck: Hey Walt. Remember that time we went to that place and took down that clown with the “shoulder pads”? You kept jumping in front of his pulse beams to shield the rest of us?
Sasquatch: You mean Vancouver?
Puck: Right! Don’t do that, eh? Whatever this thing is it’s not -- I mean look! The hairs on my arm’s sticking straight up and that thing’s not even in sight yet. If you weren’t so mangy your hair’s’d be sticking up too, eh.
Sasquatch: Mangy? (smiles) Ha!

Major Mapleleaf: Heather, I’m not sure that I’m ready for this.
Heather: You’ll be fine, Louis. We’ll get through this, just do what you can, and STAY CLOSE. Michael? What’s the word?
Shaman: Enormously powerful. My friends... the spirits do not believe that this bodes well. And they cannot help us.
Heather: Frank and to the point, Michael. Here comes Mac.

Guardian: He’s a few kilometers out and closing fast. We’re right in his path.
Major Mapleleaf: So, it’s a he?
Guardian: As far as I can determine. Humanoid at the very least. We make our stand here, but Michael, be ready to teleport us away if things go badly. If it comes to that though, you must send us east and to the south. We’ll retreat, but only to regroup and try again. We have to stay in his path. Do you understand?
Shaman: Understood. (Shaman looks away, concerned. He closes his eyes in concentration.)

(Zha Zha exits the jet and stands next to Major Mapleleaf.)
Zha Zha: What’s a-happenin’ Hotstuff?
Major Mapleleaf: What’s happening? I’m trying to keep my knees from knocking.
Zha Zha: (kisses him on the cheek for reassurance) Me too. What’s Michael doing?
Major Mapleleaf: (looking over) I don’t know, but whatever it is I hope it works.

(Shaman finishes and a spiritual copy of himself emerges from his physical. They look at each other and smile. Shaman softly says "go" and then looks away toward the oncoming threat in the distance. The copy moves off, pausing to look back as the Collective descends upon them. The copy, face contorted in emotional pain turns away and staggers on to the south along his mystical plane...)

The Present
Sasquatch emerges from a clearing and the small village is in view now. He lumbers onward, tormented.
Sasquatch: (internal thoughts) How can I face them? How can I forgive myself?

The Encounter
The Collective launches his attack, and Alpha Flight takes action.
Guardian: Full defensive! Then hit him from all sides. Puck, keep his attention but watch his angles!
Heather: He’s got multiple attack patterns! Michael, LOOK OUT!

(An arm of blue energy swiftly grabs Shaman and throws him to the ground. Shaman buffers his fall with a cushion, but he’s winded. Sasquatch leaps in front of him, taking the brunt of the follow up attack that would have surely killed Michael. With the seconds awarded him to recover, Shaman summons a counter attack and severs the blue energy tendril, freeing Sasquatch.)

(Puck bounds in front of the Collective’s face, deftly avoiding the array of energy arms emanating from the villain. The Collective swats him away however and Puck is mired in the snow. Heather delivers a blow to his back that, unfortunately, does little to slow his energy onslaught. With lightning speed he wheels around and hits her with a deadly, electrical blast. There’s a sharp cry of pain, and then she smolders to the ground. She is the first to die.)

(Zha Zha and Major Mapleleaf rush to Puck’s aid, hauling him up out of the snow. While Puck’s gathering himself, Zha Zha looks up toward the Collective and is swarmed by hideous, stinging insects. Flailing she turns to run but is cut down in her tracks. She stands for a moment, then falls, dead before she hits the ground. Puck and Major Mapleleaf yell out in anguish but fall next, victims of a sonic blast that shreds their senses. They perish instantly.)

(Shaman is furiously fending off attack after attack when the ground freezes, first around his ankles, then up his legs until his entire lower half is encased in solid ice. His pouch, the source of his power, is trapped. He looks up. He sees the shards of ice that in an instant rip through his body with such force that they even break up the solid block that held him. Lifeless eyes meet the ground.)

(As the carnage churns in quick succession, Guardian, recognizing the death blows of the ones he loves, dashes around energy bolts to land squarely in front of the murderer. He delivers a full powered punch that snaps the Collective’s head back. Without so much as losing his footing, though, the killer counters with a blow to Guardian’s midsection that penetrates armor and flesh. The two lock eyes, Guardian’s last look one of defiance as electricity finishes the encounter and ends his life.)

(To the right, twenty feet away, Sasquatch writhes on the ground, his struggle against a lively energy coil nearly complete as the strangle hold begins to fade his view to black. Desperate eyes see the dead lying nearby and his last ounce of strength vanishes with the last bit of oxygen that runs it’s course through his body. In pain he succumbs to darkness, his body now still.)

(The Collective moves on to the south and to the east.)

The Present
(Sasquatch enters the warm, candlelit mausoleum inconsolable. Croaking the words "I'm sorry", he reverts to his human form and Liz, Madison and Marrina rush to him. The four are tightly holding each other, sobbing deeply. Logan fights strong emotions, the battle being played out on his face. "Walt, you don't need to..." is all he can get out and he cracks enough as he's pulled into the group hug.)

(Snowbird appears at the door "You are not the only one who needs forgiveness, my friend" she says through tears. They cry out her name and rush to her.)

(Later, as the raw moments have passed, they're sitting, listening to Madison's story about the time he, Puck and Logan were at a bar in the old days...)
Madison: ...so Judd’s really laying into Logan, an’ I’m practically passing out right there at the table from laughin’ so hard. He doesn’t think it’s funny at all so he pops his claws. Now, usually I’d know better, but instead I turn them into forks an’ spoons... right there! You should’a seen his face! Judd... Judd, I though he was gonna explode. I never saw anyone laugh that hard. He falls off the chair and is just pounding the floor... Steve, the barkeep’s lookin’ at us like we were pink little aliens or something. And Logan gets in my face yelling “Put ‘em BACK! Put ‘em BACK!... (between laughter of his own) Genie never let you live that down, man.

Logan: It took you three weeks to get the edges back the right way.
Madison: Everyday I had to tweak them... a millimeter this way, a micrometer that way... Ha!

Outside, the snow falls and stories continue of good times past with friends remembered.

Walt: ...and Mike used to conjure up some weird little echo trick and it would say “Judd” just softly enough, and Eugene’d look around like “did someone just call me?” and we’d all act like -- like we were busy and not paying attention, but we're all -- trying not to laugh and so......

("Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears, but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you there." ~ Isla Paschal Richardson)

-the end

INDEX; briefly
THE COLLECTIVE: An enormously powerful being who journeyed from Alaska to the island of Genosha on a deadly path. He was eventually defeated by the Avengers.

Elizabeth Twoyoungmen aka Liz aka TALISMAN: She has mystic powers, including complete control of the Spirits of the Native lands of the North. Her father, SHAMAN, was killed in action when a powerful being called THE COLLECTIVE marched from Alaska to the island of Genosha.

Madison Jeffries aka TRANSMUTATOR: A mutant with the ability to manipulate metal, plastic and glass into any shape or function, he is a longtime friend of Alpha Flight and associate of the Weapon X program.

Walter Langkowski aka Walt aka SASQUATCH: He is a founding member of Alpha Flight and the only person present that day to survive the encounter with the Collective. He transforms into a large beast with strength similar to the Hulk.

Marrina: A founding member of Alpha Flight, she was absent from the encounter. Marrina hasn't been seen since her apparent death years ago while fighting alongside Sub Mariner and the Avengers. In this story she's returned.

Snowbird: A founding member of Alpha Flight, she was absent from the encounter. Her powers are mystical in nature. She has the ability to transform into any animal found in the northern regions of North America.

Logan aka WOLVERINE: He is a lifelong friend of many of the members killed against the Collective.

Jean-Paul aka NORTHSTAR: A founding member of Alpha Flight, he was absent from the encounter. He and his sister AURORA have the ability to fly at super speeds.

Mac aka GUARDIAN: Killed in action against the Collective, he was Alpha Flight's leader. His battlesuit, designed after the Canadian flag, gave him enhanced abilities.

Heather aka VINDICATOR: Mac's wife and longtime member of Alpha Flight, she was killed in action against the Collective. She wore a battlesuit similar to Guardian's.

Michael Twoyoungmen aka Mike aka SHAMAN: Killed in action against the Collective, he was an original member of the team. Shaman was a mystic who drew great power from his medicine pouch. For years he was estranged from his daughter because, as a child she blamed him for letting her mother die from cancer. They reconciled as she matured, although there have been other bumps in the road that created friction in their relationship.

Eugene aka Gene aka Genie aka Judd aka PUCK: Killed in action against the Collective, Puck was the heart and soul of Alpha Flight since it's formation. A midget, Puck's physical abilities often took opponents by surprise. He was wise beyond his years and a cherished member of the team despite having no real superpowers.

Zha Zha: Killed in action against the Collective, she was Puck's daughter. She, too lacked superpowers, but was a skilled fighter.

Louis aka MAJOR MAPLELEAF: Killed in action against the Collective, he, too lacked superpowers. His inclusion into Alpha Flight was a courtesy toward his father who fought in World War 2.

the Miracle on Plastic

2010-02-07T08:48:00.000-08:00

(as read by John Facenda, the dramatic, baritone voice of NFL Films)

There is a place named Lake Placid. Frozen in the wilds of upstate New York it birthed a Miracle. A triumph carved by metal blades into sheer Ice.

The Miracle On Ice… February 22, 1980, when American college hockey players stunned the world by defeating the Russian Red Army juggernaut, and capturing the Olympic Gold medal as Al Michaels boomed the immortal "Do you believe in miracles? YES!"

Bridgeville, Pennsylvania. Monday, June 26th, 2009; 8:13pm. Having labored through the mediocrity of a 2-8 regular season, one group of men calling themselves the Avengers lifted themselves to the realm of mythos; shrugging off the adversity that had dogged them for 10 arduous weeks. And when the clouds encircled them bellow upon that mountain peak one summer evening, 3 foes lay vanquished… and a championship was their's forever.

Fiery slapshots and wicked kick saves held off the powerhouse Blitzkrieg until, with barely a moment left in the contest, and trailing, the mighty Avengers struck even. Blitzkrieg reeled! A tide of fury had been unleashed and they were no longer able to resist the terrible force of it. Gathering strength, a powerful march ensued upon that last face-off before overtime, and as time halted, the deathblow was dealt at the scant, miniscule, impossible 0.4 mark… the goal shattering the beast into a million helpless shards…

The Miracle On Plastic. Immortal now…

-the end

It was an unbelievable playoff run for the 2009 Spring League Avengers roller hockey team.

Our season started off with many bumps and bruises, and by week 7 (of 10) we faced an outright mutiny in the locker room. More than half the team was bothered by our promotion to the upper league that season, and felt that we belonged in the middle class. Afterall, we lost the Winter season in a heartbreaking 6-5 overtime stunner vs. the Storm... an end to our strongest campaign yet.

Our emergence, however, as a skilled group prompted the organizers to bump us and the Storm up into the higher league... a decision not well received.

As a result of the more challenging opponents, we struggled, and we slid backwards, finishing dead last in the regular season standings, holding the weakest seed in the playoff tournament that followed.

But something happened in that first game vs. Pitch Black. Everything clicked. Everybody stepped up and played the game of their lives. We blew them out of the water 8-3 and never looked back.

Our next opponent was Purple Haze... a group of players we had a friendly rivalry with. This game was closer, but by the third period we had pulled away to wrap it up 6-3. Our locker room was upbeat, our outlook was positive for the first time since last season.

We went into the third and final round hungry to tackle Blitzkrieg... the Roller Plex powerhouse season after season. They were, by far, the most polished team I'd seen down there. But we matched them shot for shot, save for save, and then some. The Spring Championship was a best of three series, and we took game one 7-3. Clearly, Blitzkrieg had taken us for granted, afterall, they destroyed us during the regular season. We knew, however, that they wouldn't do so in game two.

Prophetically, they owned us in that game, and by the start of the third period we were hanging on for our lives, down 4-0. That we were only down by that much was a miracle of defense and glovesaves. It wasn't until there were eight minutes left in the game that we got on the scoreboard. Not long after, though, Blitzkrieg added another, and that 5-1 hole, with 5 minutes left, seemed like it reached all the way down to the bottom.

Nobody gave up, and by the time the game wound down to the one minute mark we had pulled to within one goal amid a whirlwind of scoring activity. Still losing 6-5, I came off the dek the way goalies are supposed to, and with that extra skater, not to mention the empty net back in our zone, we scored with exactly eight seconds left in the game. The bench erupted. Overtime, especially after having been dominated for so much of the game, meant that we had a chance to close out the series, and win the title that night.

I went back in net for the final ticks, mentally preparing myself for the extra period(s), and absolutely, positively determined not to let anything get past me in those last few seconds of regulation.

Instead, ironically, Blitzkrieg's goaltender faced a bouncing hockey ball, as our center, Brandon Englert took the faceoff, sped through the flatfooted defensemen and fired a desperation shot as the clock stretched downward toward zero.

With 0.4 seconds left, the ball found it's way in, just barely, and the moment became surreal. From the crease at the far end, I didn't see it cross the line, but the arms of my teammates raising in celebration, and the motion by the referee confirmed it that some sort of tiny miracle had happened for us. We pulled even with eight seconds remaining; We won the game, and the championship with 0.4 seconds left.

I stood there with my hands on my helmet in complete disbelief, and watched them drop the ball for the final, uncontested faceoff as the buzzer sounded.

It was a blast! We play in such leagues for the fun of it. To win them has no bearing on the world or even, really, our day to day lives. But it's a good time spent with friends, and something we can talk about fondly as we leave those years where we can participate in sport behind.

Plus, we got trophies...

The Avengers:
Greg Anderson #80 - Brandon Cigana #27 - Nic Diulus #48 - Brandon Englert #67 - Travis Hartzog #5 - Trevor Hartzog #11 - Fred Huebner #10 - Aaron Kent #55 - Lenny Kersting #8 - Josh King #65 - Zach Rudolph #17 - Sean Stockhausen #21

"I Have Loved the Stars too Fondly..."

2010-02-07T08:45:00.000-08:00

Hello there. Let me round out your impression of me by stating, unashamedly, that I am science geek. I bounce back and forth between books that are science fiction and science fact.

...er, fact = "current theory", or something to that effect.

Okay, I might as well just lay it all out for you... Aliens/Flying Saucers do not exist; we did land on the moon; the Abominable Snowman, the Loch Ness Monster, and Bigfoot are figments of your imagination...

Now you know where I stand on the key issues.

In deciding to specifically identify myself as someone who likes Science Fiction I think I had better stress to you from the start that I am not a sci-fi slut. I have standards! Certain elements of the genre make me cringe, others make me scoff. I stay away from the fantasy end of the spectrum, so, unless it's a true epic, like Lord of the Rings, or Glitter, I tend to glaze over... (though I certainly don't begrudge anyone their penchants and proclivities.)

Every era has it's moments of greatness, and for me the Science Fiction storytelling of the past is what I connect with the most. I adore the old Twilight Zone episodes, as well as the incredible Marvel Comics titles from my formative years. Today, through creators like J.J. Abrams and Alan Moore a renaissance is underway... Our modern day Rod Serling & H.G. Wells. Others of note: Dan Abnett, Alan Dean Foster, Neil Gaiman, and occassionally, Ben Bova.

In any case, maybe I should tell you my top ten favorite science related things/theories/moments, or something... just to be consistent with my demented inclination to create lists... but I won't. Why should I? You would be bored, and I would come off as an egghead.

((#10 Cheese-Wiz

#9 Travel Mugs

#8 The Theory that the Earth revolves around the sun... duh! Did you REALLY have to burn people at the stake to keep this nugget under wraps Mr. Pope-of-the-13th-century?

#7 Port-a-Potties

#6 My favorite shirt that I bought at the GAP. It's made from baby seals.

#5 Desposable Calenders. No more stone tablets!

#4 Thermal Accelerators that detect Minutia Fractals left Residually upon Quantatative Muon Impacts within Kantium-37 coated Dilaticated Tube-Systems (and their equivalent Sub-Systems) without which we would not be able to produce Aqua Fresh with extra whitening and the lesser by-product JDAM bombs (say "cheese" commy scum!)

#3 Calculators that can display 20 numbers at once (I've been alive for 1,087,776,000 seconds).

#2 Eyeballs (thanks "Natural Selection").

#1 Heidi Klum))

And so you would be shocked(!) to know that I'm not a big fan of NASA.

The sentiment has been expressed that a manned mission to Mars would be a great and lofty thing for mankind, and that such an endeavor should be pursued so as to better us as a people.

How about some perspective here. You're going to go pick up rocks and leave size 12 boot prints in dirt, and THAT's going to better man?

Man sitting in the dirt somewhere in 3rd World bliss, reading his copy of "Destitution Gazette" while eating mud because it tastes better than eating an igneous stone-hoagie: "I'm so hungry I could eat an igneous stone-hoagie... Oh! Hey, 'we' landed on Mars!"

It sounds like it, but I'm not a bleeding heart liberal. I just think it's a matter of common sense. Algebraically speaking, if a 40 billion dollar space probe leaves Cape Canaveral at 3:00 pm EST on Monday, how long would it take for 40 billion dollars worth of agricultural advancement to stabilize a place like the Sudan?

Or how about inventing a system that converts our abundance of amazing landfills into fields of wonder? Where each item beheld is transformed into the raw materials used for building our needful things?

You're NASA, for crying out loud. The best and the brightest, masters of the PhD... FIGURE IT OUT.

Use the knowledge and the resources to do something more essentially vital to the planet. A dozen men and women, among a world of billions, slow-motion-skipping on the surface of the moon or other crusty planets doesn't do me much good. Not when I have to tiptoe around the hypodermic needles that get washed up on shore via deep oceanic garbage dumping. And do I really have to pay $120 for a new muffler every 10 years??

You're NASA. Invent cars that run on... anything... gumby bears... I don't care. Just do it! I, personally, don't need to see Pluto's backside, or to gain, definitively, the knowledge that spiders throw up in weightlessness. I don't want to vacation on the moon... unless they rename it "FLORIDA" and it requires suntan lotion & shark repellent.

I understand the love affair with inspiration. The expanding of imagination through triumphs of human spirit among the stars. Perhaps, though, for a time we can derive those experiences via inner space. Envisioning adventure doesn't cost a dime, taxpayer or otherwise.

Launch the satellites you need...they do, indeed, better us in specific, technological ways, but spare the outer solar system voyages until the family of mankind has reached a better baseline. Give us better proportions in our shades of gray. Invent. Inspire. In ways that are more practical, use your gifts in Earth-centric ways, until that time for the hands-on exploration of such astonishing places as Mars, and Europa, and Titan fall into their natural order of progress.

...

Oh well... in any case NASA, thanks for the Hubble, and Freeze-Dried-Ice Cream. ohmygoshisthatstuffgood!

File Name: the Aaron

2010-02-07T08:35:00.002-08:00

Dear Friends-Who-Can-Take-Good Natured-Ribbings (you others look away),

Why the "chopsticks"? Yes, I know that you're eating "Chinese Food" and that "Chinese People" have employed this dining technique since the "Eating of Food" was invented (18,000 years ago by a hungry human in a cave somewhere, sitting next to some poor, unsuspecting chicken). But the thing is, you can afford silverware... in fact, most restaurants are willing to lease theirs out during your stay at their establishment.

My views might be skewed by my upbringing, in that, I was born in the 20th century (an era that saw the Cold War proliferation of eating utensils).

Using two small sticks to guide food to your mouth (Lo Mien, General Tso's Chicken, TGI Friday's Pepper Poppers, Twinkies, etc) doesn't strike me as sophisticated at all. What do *I* think is sophisticated? Eating with a solid-beam laser that prepares the morsels instantaneously as you bring them up to your mouth, now that would impress me! But to use an object a chimpanzee, of his own volition, without training or prompting from an enthusiastic zoo staffer named "Tami" or "Trish", will shove down an ant hole, seems strangely backwards (though I haven't developed the mathematical equation that proves this). A monkey will take one twig and feast on misguided ants, a human will use two and spend 15 minutes trying to casually manhandle non-clumping white rice... (Google/Wikipedia/Keyword: Evolution).

Perhaps "chopsticks" is some sort of societal backlash against the snobbish British {something}-tocracy that insisted civilized people use no less than 17 different implements; including 4 salad forks, 2 soup spoons (1 for broth, the other for gruel... pardon me, not gruel, porridge) and then 5 or more that are merely for show. However, though it isn't fashionable to compliment the United States of America in those more sophisticate cliques of the world, I do believe that as a Nation it's well on it's way to establishing the absolute pinnacle of utensil technology. One day, perhaps even in our lifetime(!), we may very well be using "the Serrated Metallic Spork" (patent pending). We're not there yet! To date the "spork" is a weak and laughable device. Made only of flimsy plastic, constructed solely by hardworking children in Indonesia, it's done little to impress the mainstream "Eaters".

But I envision a stunning rise to power for the "Serrated Metallic Spork" once "Smart Edge" technology solves the problem of cut lips.

It can scoop soups, cut steaks, stab nibblets, advance mankind, inspire a world...

And then the whole of human society, the adventurous and utilitarian alike, will raise their utensils as one...

For the record, since I am the first person who thought of this, I want it to be called an "aaron", in a similar way that a toilet is called a "john" (in reference to J. Stamos' acting career I believe).

"Excuse me, Waiter? I dropped my aaron. Could you bring me another one?"

"Attention K-Mart shoppers, today's Blue Light Special is our gold plated aaron dining set, just $14.99!"

"Honey! Have you seen my screwdriver??" :: "I don't know where it is. Just use an aaron!"

"Happy Anniversary Dear." :: "What's this? An engraved aaron? 'To My Love. Think of Me When You Eat' aawwwww How sweet!"

Until that day: Eat, Drink and Be Merry, For Tomorrow We Die

* For a complete schematical drawing of my proposed invention please visit the National Patents Office in Washington D.C.; file name "The Aaron"; case number 87204783-2249 (not really).

24 Hour Comic Book Day

2010-02-07T08:35:00.001-08:00

On October 3rd, 2009 Time Tunnel Comics in Mt Lebo hosted the 24 Hour Comic Book Day... which is a geekfest where comic book creators (loosely defined) throw together 24 pages in 24 straight hours.

The marathon started at 3 in the afternoon that Saturday and, I'm told, ended just after Egg McMuffins were scarfed down the next day.

I'm a prima donna, of course, so I strolled in around 11pm and hung out until 5 Sunday morning.

I met some fun artists, ate some pizza, whited-out some pizza smudges, and headed home for sleep.

I finished it throughout the following week... about 22 working hours over the course of 5 days.

To help it come off quickly I used plain, hulkly characters splashed over big action panels with little to no background ("Foggy Battlefield" anyone?).

In any case, it was alot of fun and I'm looking forward to doing it again...

(2) On a Foggy Battlefield...

2010-02-07T08:34:00.002-08:00

Yes... I really did open with my very own "It was a dark and stormy night"...

I was inspired.

No, really... I was going for the Stan Lee cornball vernacular. It was the only way to incorporate the awesome ranking system of the old Marvel RPG the comic was based on.

For you fellow comics & sci-fi nerds out there:
FEEBLE (2)
GOOD (10)
EXCELLENT (20)
REMARKABLE (30)
INCREDIBLE (40)
AMAZING (50)
MONSTROUS (75)
and
UNEARTHLY (100)

(3) a Shaky Opening

2010-02-07T08:34:00.001-08:00

It was alittle shaky to start. I didn't know exactly how the characters should look so the generic guy was a bit bananas (not the Gwen Stefani "b-a-n-a-n-a-s" GOOD way, either...).

He found a better groove as things went on.

And as for "Colossus A.D. 2640"... well, he's a public domain character created in the 40's I think. He's public domain because he really is THAT lame:

(4) the 45 Minute Page

2010-02-07T08:33:00.003-08:00

I was settled in at this point and comfortable with the cutting of corners as long as I could keep pumping the pages out in under an hour.

The biggest cop-out was having no actual dialogue. If you can comprehend the gibberish that they're saying I feel great pity for you, truly.

The plan was to attach a number to each dialogue balloon and then reveal at the end of the story by way of a transcript that, instead of two monsters squaring off, it's really a couple of kids playing an RPG (complete with dorky ten-sided dice). For that I just typed it all up. To draw the lettering would've ended me and my right, drawing hand.

I just gave away the ending! That's okay, this isn't "the Sixth Sense" or "Glitter"...

(5) a Little Rushed

2010-02-07T08:33:00.001-08:00

These pages were alittle rushed and Colossus A.D. 2640 suffered one of his worst panels in all his gloried history as he power lifted... something (a chunk of rock, maybe?). I thought about going back and redoing some of the weaker moments but I felt my time was better served folding laundry.

(6) KRACKK

2010-02-07T08:32:00.001-08:00

The use of "KRACKK" seemed necessary. Moreso than "THOOM". I'm not sure how, exactly, it should be pronounced, if at all, and I now question spelling it with a "C" mixed in there. "KRAKK" just didn't seem gramatically correct...

(7) Midway

2010-02-07T08:31:00.001-08:00

This was the halfway point, representing pages 12 and 13. It was probably around 3AM Sunday morning and all of the other wimps were fighting fatigue, carpal tunnel syndrome, and general attrition. Actually, they had been at Time Tunnel since 3 o'clock on Saturday afternoon while I meandered in a mere 4 hours from that milestone.

I also left out detail throughout up to this point simply because I wasn't sure how much I could get done. I backtracked from here to fill in texture, slowing my pace.

(8) Losing the Rust

2010-02-07T08:30:00.002-08:00

I finally started to lose the rustiness and draw some better images. Plus I had slowed things down.

I was getting TIRED, though, as 5 AM rolled around and decided to head out shortly after these two pages. For one thing the Generic began looking like a Stay-Puff Marshmellow nightmare with the rounded muscles and the swollen hands. The set-up for the next pages convinced me that it was time to go because they were "Atari version of Pac-Man" bad.

(9) There's the THOOM

2010-02-07T08:30:00.001-08:00

Yeah, you're right... THOOM is a much better sound effect than KRACKK.

I drew this in the comfort of my home Sunday evening after a great deal of sleep, food, roller hockey, and fantasy football anxiety.

(10) Home Stretch

2010-02-07T08:29:00.002-08:00

There wasn't enough exposition between the previous "THOOM" page and these but that's the way it goes when you're in a hurry.

2640 knocked Generic through a wall and then had to go find him. ::POOF:: There he is behind him... roll tape aaaaaand ACTION.

(11) Death By Die

2010-02-07T08:29:00.001-08:00

For those of you who don't know, that's a 10-sided die plummeting from the sky in one panel and smoldering in the next.

Ironically enough, a 10-sided die does not ACTUALLY have a side that says "10" (as I've drawn... an oversight my inner geek holds over me to this day). It's typically a "0" but who's counting?

I was so glad to be this far along in the comic. Trying to create one in less than a week felt unnatural and I wanted it to be birthed, raised, grown and out of the house.

(12) Finale

2010-02-07T08:28:00.000-08:00

This was the last big page of artwork I needed to do in order to finish the comic. I admit it, I skimped, especially the shot of the house. And the other kid's shirt... I don't know what was happening there. I'm pretty sure I goofed up on it and hid the fact with an array of cross patterns and prayers that I didn't have to draw a "redo".

The battle between the titans was silly, and directly following this page the transcript showed just how much.

Thanks to Time Tunnel for Hosting

2010-02-07T08:24:00.000-08:00

The Back Cover / Page 24 was just a quick "Thanks" to Time Tunnel (that's their mascot in the middle) and an acknowledgement of the event and of my "Noble Failure" as the 24 Hour Comic Book Day people designate it (I didn't finish within 24 hours straight but completed it shortly afterwards).I hadn't done anything like this for a solid decade and it was fun to put it together. I don't know how people do it for a living.Colossus AD 2640 can stomp back to Public Domain retirement (I'm pretty sure he was supposed to be a giant) and Tok the Generic can head to Sweden for that special operation. I've put my Marvel RPG childhood back to bed until next year's event...