Watchmaker/Through The Looking Glass
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Contents |
Prologue: Looking-Glass House
In another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly down into the Looking-glass room. The very first thing she did was to look whether there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite pleased to find that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she had left behind. "So I shall be as warm here as I was in the old room," thought Alice: "warmer, in fact, because there'll be no one here to scold me away from the fire. Oh, what fun it'll be, when they see me through the glass in here, and can't get at me!"
PORTAL CORPORATION, PEREGRINE ISLAND
BUILDING 112
AUGUST 28, 2004, 1:47 P.M.
"It's a lot like our Earth, but there are differences. The first one we noticed was no Paragon City. The portal opened about twenty miles outside of a city called Providence. And the tech level's a bit lower; no Rikti, of course, and not as many science heroes."
"Yeah, supers seem to be a lot rarer there. I'd guess there were maybe twenty heroes in the whole state. They do have a Statesman, though, and a Freedom Phalanx. But they call it the Freedom League and it's based in New York City."
"Mm. How's Stewart?"
"Resting comfortably in the infirmary. Whatever it was that knocked him out doesn't seem to have had any lasting effects."
"And what about the man you brought with you?"
"What do you mean? We didn't bring anything back except video and the usual newspaper."
"I've seen the tape from this morning. A man came through the portal with you. ... short guy, forties or fifties? Glasses, tweed jacket, messy hair, sort of the college professor type? Don't you remember?"
"No..."
"Nope."
"Sorry."
"Security, this is Edwards. I want the campus locked down and all stations on alert. Detain any unauthorized visitors, hell, detain anyone who isn't where they're supposed to be. I'll have a photo for you shortly. Yes. Thank you. ... Well, gentlemen, shall we all have a look at that tape?"
CITY HALL, ATLAS PARK
SEPTEMBER 4, 2004, 11:08 A.M.
"Got another Suspicious Person report here."
"Put it on the stack with the fifty others so far today. *sigh* Yes, sir, can I help you?"
"Yes. I wish to register as a hero."
The Garden of Live Flowers
"I declare it's marked out just like a large chessboard!" Alice said at last. "There ought to be some men moving about somewhere -- and so there are!" She added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement as she went on. "It's a great huge game of chess that's being played - all over the world - if this is the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if only I might join - though of course I should like to be a Queen, best."
August 29
I stand upon the threshold of a new world. Is this the same thrill my grandparents felt at their first sight of the Statue of Liberty, standing at the ship's rail with my mother swaddled in their arms? I shall miss my little loft with all my books and inventions, but I could not pass up this extraordinary opportunity.
I have also used my special talents more overtly than ever before, though it was easy enough to befriend these strangers, pluck their secrets from their minds and then erase myself from their awareness. There was a moment when I thought one of them might raise an alarm; I was forced to render him unconscious and "suggest" to the others that they return home with all haste.
Now I walk the streets of a city that should not exist: a city divided between warring powers and partitioned by great walls, like Berlin and Belfast in my own reality, into safe and unsafe zones. A city full of bewildering yet fascinating novelty. And perhaps most surprisingly, a city that teems with brightly-costumed heroes and vigilantes - so many that in Atlas Park, they seem to outnumber the pigeons.
It was on a park bench in the shadow of that giant memorial that I spent my first few hours in this "Paragon City," watching the crowd and allowing their stray thoughts to sieve through my awareness. I then adjourned to the city library and remained there until closing time, reading all that I could about the city and the world around it. Much of the history is familiar, at least in broad outline. Most of the changes seem to be a result of the great abundance of super-beings. Despite that, they have the same Presidents and my money passes without comment. I also learned of those responsible for the city's present condition, and their connection to the means of my arrival here. It was both illuminating and frightening; I pray that the Rikti never locate my world.
Soon after I was forced to leave the library, I had my first encounter with the local criminal element. They roam this city without fear, like packs of feral dogs. They must have thought me an easy mark. I was in no mood to be gentle after one clipped me with a sledgehammer. Their broken bones should heal, but I wonder if any of them will ever remember their names or how to tie their shoes.
I spent that night in a hotel room and set out the next morning to find more permanent lodgings. By the end of the afternoon I had settled on a small one-bedroom apartment in a part of the city called "Kings Row." While rather shabby and run-down, the neighborhood reminds me of home. Nor am I likely to attract much attention here; even the heroes seem to pass this zone by, leaving the residents to their own meager resources. And the rent is cheap, especially after I convinced my new landlady that I had already given it to her.
Now, after a few trips to the local stores for groceries and other supplies - including this journal, in which I intend to record my thoughts and observations - I am beginning to feel almost comfortable in this strange mirror universe. I do not yet know how long I will remain, but it promises to be quite interesting.
September 1
I was accosted today by another group of young toughs. They wear different colors (grey, mostly) and call themselves Skulls, but are not much different otherwise. A pack of them were loitering on the stoop of one of the brownstones, harassing passers-by. They thought it amusing to try to bar my way; I thought it amusing to stun them into insensibility and bounce them off the wall and sidewalk a few times. Afterwards I pocketed the contents of their wallets and left them for the police.
September 3
I was shopping at the corner store when three Skulls attempted a hold-up. I had intended to keep my head down and not get involved, but one of them grabbed me and put a gun in my face. I reacted instinctively.
I was not prepared for the gratitude of the shopkeeper or the other customers. They were happily surprised to find a hero in their midst and swore not to reveal my secret identity. Two large women kept kissing me until I had to ask them to stop.
Me, a hero? How absurd.
And yet
No. Certainly not.
September 4
It is done.
September 5
The morning after brings regret. Was it a mistake to register as a hero? For so many years I have hidden my gifts, pretending to be nothing more than a scholar, a tinkerer, unremarkable and ordinary.
But here, being a hero is unremarkable and ordinary. I must have seen a dozen of them loitering about the plaza in front of City Hall yesterday when I went to register. I was a cuckoo amid their peacock finery, a face in the crowd.
And what if someone did notice me, for a change? I am a cipher. My hero license is the only record that I even exist.
There is an intriguing thought. Do I, or rather, another version of me already exist in this reality? The temptation to seek myself out, compare experiences, join forces... but no, the risk is too great. I must not let this one act embolden me to abandon all caution. Later, perhaps, but not now.
September 7
My career as a do-gooder is off to a fine start. To date, I have been credited with the arrests of seventeen vivisectors and body snatchers (and a similar number of shambling lumps of rotting meat) and over fifty members of various gangs. My only injuries are a few minor burns and bruises and the beginnings of a truly awful headache from the unusually heavy use of my powers. I find the whole experience oddly satisfying, even invigorating.
When it came to choosing my nom de guerre, I thought of my father (rest his soul) and my brief apprenticeship in his watch shop. Sad irony; if not for his untimely death, we never would have had the money for me to attend college. As it was his delicate and precise craft that inspired me to study engineering and helped set me on my present course, I though it fitting to honor him this way. It also appeals to me to be known simply and enigmatically as "the Watchmaker." My one concession to costumed vanity has been to acquire a better quality of suit, more suited to the rigors of my new vocation.
September 12
Today I broke up a Fifth Column cell that had taken over one of the city's many abandoned buildings. They are quite bold; I have heard reports of them drilling in uniform in ruined parts of the city and even preaching on street corners. I find myself wondering about their counterparts back home: were they truly defeated along with their Axis masters, as most believe? Or have they merely remained in hiding, like those here until recently? I must investigate this upon my return, perhaps even alert the authorities.
September 14
Wretched little monsters.
No. In this journal, at least, I must try to be objective and detailed. Here are the facts, then:
Late this afternoon, I was patrolling along the aqueduct when I noticed movement in one of the power substations. When I investigated, I found neither utility workers at their jobs nor Skulls engaged in some illicit mischief, but several stick-figure mechanical men who appeared to be constructing another of their number (Von Neumann would be proud). I had heard of the industrial scavengers known as the Clockwork, but I had never seen any before. I was instantly fascinated.
There were five of them, four child-sized and one almost my height, all mainly composed of rusty rebar, gears, wire, old cans and other scrap. The tall one seemed to be supervising the others, though none of them said a word; the only sound was that of their workings. Their eyes - for they did have simple faces, with green glass eyes and grill mouths - seemed to glow faintly in the deepening twilight. Each even had a little key turning on its back, which I thought was quite charming.
As the light was failing, I crept closer to get a better look at them. I am certain that I made no aggressive moves. Yet suddenly, the nearest one turned, raised a spindly arm, and threw lightning at me. Shocked (quite literally!) and stung, I lashed out at the vicious thing with the full power of my mind. It trembled and fell over, inert.
Now that I think back on it, that seems somewhat peculiar. In my blind rage, I hit it with my projected anger rather than a telekinetic blow. I would not expect a mechanism to be affected by a psychic assault, yet it was.
I had no chance to ponder this then, for the disabled Clockwork's fellows turned on me at once. I destroyed them all, gritting my teeth against the repeated shocks as I shook and bashed them apart, tossing them into the air, dismembering them, kicking the last one until it stopped moving. Then I sank to my knees to recover my wits and my breath before withdrawing to my apartment to record the encounter and nurse my wounds. No doubt the scattered parts have already been scavenged by others, perhaps even reassembled.
Now that I have written, I am somewhat calmer. I wonder again why my telepathy worked on supposedly mindless robots. I wonder also from whence comes this lingering sense of betrayal and ingratitude.
Red King's Dream
"He's dreaming now," said Tweedledee: "and what do you think he's dreaming about?"
Alice said "Nobody can guess that."
"Why, about YOU!" Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. "And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?"
"Where I am now, of course," said Alice.
"Not you!" Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. "You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!"
"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum, "you'd go out - bang! - just like a candle!"
September 22
I've completed all of the tasks set by Mr. Nash and he has recommended me to a reporter who covers High Park, the neighborhood just north of here. I'll be glad of no more train rides over to Galaxy City, wedged in between the dregs of society and my fellow "heroes," though having to run up to High Park is little better. And a reporter! I shall have to be careful what I say around her.
October 1
I have become quite fond of Paula Dempsey, my second new contact here in Kings Row. She is a kindred spirit, a mechanic and an inventor. We "talked shop" for over an hour before she got around to giving me my first assignment. She makes me think of the daughter I might have had, if my life had taken a different and less solitary path... though I doubt she thinks of me as anything but a funny old man who shares an interest in tinkering. (I could find out by probing deeper, but I am more afraid of knowing.)
I have worn this suit for so long that I have grown into it; it has become me.
Perhaps ruining the day of some Skulls will purge me of this sudden melancholy.
October 6
I have been having the same dream for the last three nights. I am playing chess with someone. I cannot see his face, and I have the strange feeling that he might not have one. Sometimes I play white, sometimes black. We do not speak, and we never manage to finish the game before I am awakened by the tolling of the clock, announcing one of the small hours of the morning.
October 10
The dreams continue, yet the identity of my mysterious opponent still eludes me. I cannot dismiss the uncanny sense of familiarity, though I do not see how it is possible. I am still a stranger in this city, and neither my fellow tenants nor the thugs and hoodlums I bring to justice seem the type to join me over rooks and pawns.
I have tried sleeping pills, but they only serve to keep me from waking. Now the games end in stalemate and my opponent fades back into the darkness, leaving me with the faint clicking and humming of gears until oblivion finally overtakes me and I wake at last to morning's light. I am increasingly reluctant to sleep at all, pushing myself harder and longer during the day.
October 16
A different dream tonight: I was sitting on a chair, or throne, attended by puppets and marionettes. A porcelain doll brought me a broken pocket watch on a silk pillow; I tried to put it back together, but my fingers were clumsy and the parts would not all fit inside the casing. Then Punch began to beat Judy, and each blow was the sound of a bell, and I awoke with my heart pounding in my chest and the last stroke of midnight echoing in the room.
If this does not stop, I fear I may go mad.
October 18
Blessed relief! Paula, hearing of my plight, has loaned me a Psychic Dampener. This device, while slightly uncomfortable to wear, has given me the first uninterrupted and truly restful sleep I've had in weeks. I must ask her how it works; I would have already opened it up to investigate for myself, but I cannot risk damaging it. It is my lifeline, my talisman.
October 25
A full week and no more nightmares (other than one of the common sort). Now if only there was some way of doing away with these wires that entangle and vex me.
November 5
I have not been doing much "heroing" lately - just enough to keep up appearances - but when Paula asked me for a favor this afternoon, I could not refuse. It involved clearing a warehouse in Atlas Park of some Clockwork, as well as a few Skulls with a competing claim. I was assisted by a young woman who goes by "Malice Cat."
We had just beaten the last of the Skulls senseless when my eye fell on something totally out-of-place in an abandoned warehouse: a book, a leather-bound journal not unlike the one in which I write these words, sitting by itself on a table. Its pages were, are, full of the ravings of the one the people here call "the Clockwork King." I cannot explain why I find it so fascinating. He is clearly insane, and yet...
Paula wanted me to turn the journal over to her, but I could not bear to part with it before I have read it through. I assured her that I would deliver it to her promptly on Monday. Deciphering its contents will be my weekend's work.
November 6
My adversary is revealed at last. In the final pages of the diary, I find the same dreams, the same nocturnal games of chess.
How is this possible? What have I done to attract the attention of this Clockwork King? Is it because I am alien to this city, this world, or is there some other reason? I must know!
November 8
As promised, I turned the journal over to Dempsey today, telling her little of my findings. I was reluctant to give it up; I am sure now that it was no chance discovery or oversight. That book was put there, deliberately, so that it would come into my hands.
I almost ... but no. She has been nothing but a friend to me, and provided me with the device that even now guards my nightly rest. I should not think such things. Instead, I must content myself with the photocopies I made.
Humpty Dumpty
"Now I declare that's too bad!" Humpty Dumpty cried, breaking into a sudden passion. "You've been listening at doors - and behind trees - and down chimneys - or you couldn't have known it!"
"I haven't, indeed!" Alice said very gently. "It's in a book."
"Ah, well! They may write such things in a book," Humpty Dumpty said in a calmer tone. "That's what you call a History of England, that is. Now, take a good look at me! I'm one that has spoken to a King, I am: mayhap you'll never see such another: and to show you I'm not proud, you may shake hands with me!" And he grinned almost from ear to ear, as he leant forwards (and as nearly as possible fell of the wall in doing so) and offered Alice his hand.
November 10
To try to divert myself from thoughts of the journal, I have taken to "exercising" in Eastgate, more commonly known as the Hollows. The Trolls and Outcasts here are an interesting change of pace from the Skulls and Hellions I have previously dealt with, and they travel in greater numbers. They are just as slow and stupid, however, and my ability to put whole crowds to sleep makes their numbers moot.
Still, there are times when a little extra brawn is welcome. I have been teaming up with a giant of a man - literally a walking tank - with the heroic name of "Old Ironsides." Despite his imposing appearance and military bearing, somewhere underneath all that armor and muscle is a good man with a surprisingly keen mind.
That sounds terribly trite as I read it again. Perhaps this city is affecting me more than I'd thought. As I practice my mental abilities, they become more powerful and also more sensitive. So many minds, pressing in on me... Only when I am here in my room, with the Dampener on, can I find real peace. Perhaps I should consult Paula again and learn the details of its operation, so that I can construct an improved (and more portable) version.
November 29
Weeks of experimentation with my telekinesis have finally borne fruit: I can now reliably levitate and move myself through the air. So far I can only manage a walking pace, but I am confident that can be improved with more practice. This new ability has already proven its worth in allowing me to reach rooftops without resorting to climbing fire escapes.
The days have grown cold, but not as cold as I would expect - it seems that the walls around this city keep the bitter New England winters at bay as well as the Rikti. Despite the lack of snow, the Christmas shopping season is in full swing. It is most apparent in Steel Canyon, where every lamppost briefly sprouted wreaths and banners (until the Outcasts tore down and/or burned most of them) and the front windows of banks and department stores are full of displays of materialistic cheer. For the next month I shall have to endure insincere well-wishers and saccharine music along with the usual villainy. Some things are a constant, even across dimensions.
December 14
My renewed investigation of the Clockwork has turned up a most unusual clue. It seems that they are holding a man prisoner. His observations of their activities may be invaluable.
I have also found another minor point of difference between this world and my own: the familiar eight reindeer of legend are accompanied by a ninth, a mutant named "Rudolf," who appears to be a modern addition.
December 17
Lou the mechanic is reunited with his family, and I find myself surprisingly touched by their genuine love for each other in the midst of this seasonal pageant of greed and hypocrisy. Though my brother and I have not spoken for years, I feel keenly the distance between us tonight. No doubt I will find his usual card among my accumulated mail when I finally return to my loft. Perhaps I will answer this one.
I have already lingered in Paragon City longer than I originally intended. The enigma of the Clockwork King and his creations consumes me. I cannot return until I understand the strange connection between us. I have even considered going without the Dampener for a few nights, to see what insights may be gained in the realm of Morpheus, but for the fear of what my enemy may learn of me through the same channel. I might awaken to find myself borne off by Cogs and Knights, another prisoner.
December 24
Today I made my usual rounds of the Row with a different purpose: delivering gifts. (Though along the way I did have to thrash a few Skulls who did not share the Christmas spirit.) Mr. Garcia of the corner bodega has been without a portable stereo since the last one was stolen by Clockwork, and Victor was quite surprised that I knew his favorite kind of fresh-ground coffee. I was unable to find Ironsides on patrol, so his present will have to wait for another day.
I was unprepared for Paula's reaction. When she first opened the box and took out the old plastic toy, she was as happy as I had hoped, but then her face clouded over and she asked me very seriously if I had read her mind. (I have already mentioned in this journal what an intelligent girl she is.) Before I could do more than stammer a few words, she asked me not to do so again. I swore a solemn oath to that effect.
A few awkward moments followed, especially since I had shut down my other sense entirely and was uncertain how to proceed without it, but enough of her good cheer had returned by the time she handed me my gift - a copy of Seuss's "The Grinch" - to laugh at my weak protests. Tucked inside the pages was a complete schematic of the Dampener. With some luck and a visit to the electronics store in Blyde Square, I should be able to construct my own working model by the first of the year.
And just now I had a call from Lou, inviting me to dinner tomorrow. Well, why not?
"It's My Own Invention"
"How CAN you go on talking so quietly, head downwards?" Alice asked, as she dragged him out by the feet, and laid him in a heap on the bank.
The Knight looked surprised at the question. "What does it matter where my body happens to be?" he said. "My mind goes on working all the same. In fact, the more head downwards I am, the more I keep inventing new things."
December 26
Had I known, back in September, that I would be spending Boxing Day fighting mad doctors and sewn-together carcasses, I might have reconsidered this whole "hero" business. The stench of these creatures and their minders is truly abominable. Even the Lost, for all their unpleasant habits, are hygenic by comparison.
December 28
Another day, another plot against the citizens of Paragon thwarted. Sometimes it seems a wonder that the whole city does not already lie in ruins. Does this constant peril somehow breed the teeming heroes of this world to combat it, or is it the other way around? In any event, I will be glad to get back to my soldering.
January 1
With little else to occupy me on this first day of the new year, I have finished my breadboard copy of the Dampener. It passes the smoke test and (so far as I can tell) seems to work as well as the original. Now for the real challenge: fitting all of these components into a more compact casing, something durable enough for field use. I shall have to rig a battery pack as well.
I have missed this sort of work. I have been frustrated in my usual hobby by the fact that Paragon City is almost entirely lacking in usable mechanical or electronic junk; the Clockwork snatch it all up like scraps from a table, almost before it hits the ground. I have even observed them dismantling abandoned shopping carts. Nor do they confine their scavenging to trash; anything on the street is fair game, including city fixtures. I am glad that this building, despite its generally poor condition, has good locks.
If I only had some more books, this shabby little room might actually start to feel like home.
January 3
What an extraordinary and disagreeable weekend this has been! Soon after writing my last entry, I went out to do some more shopping. When I returned, it was to find my room turned upside down. I had no time to contemplate this, for I was immediately set upon by a Sprocket.
At first I thought that the Clockwork King's minions must have finally found me and gained entrance in my absence. But I noticed as I did battle that my small foe was missing an arm, the same arm missing from the supposedly non-functional Sprocket I had been reconstructing to keep my hands busy. A quick examination after I finally beat the thing into submission confirmed it; I recognized my tool marks and other small details. Somehow it had come to life in my room, even though it was still missing a power source (for I have not been able to find one still intact) and should have remained no more than an unusual sculpture.
All of this fled from my mind, however, when I turned to see what it had done. The Dampener, smashed beyond repair - both the original and my unfinished copy! I vented my full outrage upon the mechanical corpse, finally opening the window and flinging the pieces out into the alley. Then I sat down in a cold fury to contemplate my next move.
I still had the schematic, so I could construct another unit - and I must, before I dared sleep again. Nor was that building safe for me any longer. I had heard it said that the King could see through the eyes of his subjects, and what they knew, he did as well. Therefore, I gathered my few belongings, bade my landlady farewell, and set out for Skyway City.
On a tip from my new friend Sanjay, who runs the newsstand on the train platform here, I was able to find a much better class of apartment in one of the towers in the northwest corner of the zone, not far from the gate to Perez Park. The view is excellent and the building is within walking distance of the Yellow Line, if just barely. (I have never owned an automobile and I do not intend to start now, even though much of Skyway seems genuinely hostile to pedestrians.)
After signing the lease, I found myself short of funds. Fortunately, there are any number of green-skinned louts standing around on street corners in this part of the city, peddling their poison. A few hours of sweeping this trash from the gutters left me with enough influence and petty cash for a trip to the nearby electronics store. I arrived just as they were closing for the evening, but persuaded the manager to remain open long enough to make my purchases.
I worked through the night without food or rest. At last, after forcing myself to recheck every connection, I activated the new Dampener before allowing myself to fall into a deep and dreamless slumber for the better part of the day. When I finally awoke, I had a light meal and then, for lack of anything better to do, followed some old leads on the Skulls, Hellions and Fifth Column before retiring again. Only now am I returning to some sort of equilibrium.
I am beginning to develop a theory. From now on I shall leave the Dampener powered on at all times.
January 5
Fighting has broken out all over the city. It seems that the Fifth Column has split into two factions and they are fighting each other in the streets. Unfortunately, I cannot spare the time from my research to go observe firsthand.
Last night, before this all started, I was finally able to get in touch with Ironsides again. He has come up in the world since I last saw him; he has found a supergroup to join, and his security clearance is actually higher than mine. He was quite touched by my belated gift. I watched him in action against several formidable opponents before I had to leave. I hope he has the sense to stay out of this mess.
January 7
My inquiries with DATA and other sources, newspaper articles, my own observations, the spontaneous reanimation of my trophy, and even my dreams - they all point to a startling but inescapable conclusion. The Clockwork are not true robots, only puppets, and their master (whoever and whatever else he may be) is a telekinetic like myself, but of much greater power and range. If I am to face him - for I am also certain now that a confrontation between us is inevitable - I must be prepared.
I have an experiment in mind which will require locating some Clockwork. This should not prove terribly difficult.
January 8
Perhaps I should have chosen to be called "the Pied Piper." I must have made quite a sight, leading all of those Cogs and Oscillators and Knights to the gates, there to be scooped up by the vigilant police drones and sent off to the Ziggurat en masse. I expect the prison work detail will spend the next week or so sorting scrap metal.
The experiment was a success, more so than I anticipated. In a parking lot a few blocks from my new residence, I found a Cannon Knight and a Cog stripping a sedan while an Oscillator hovered overhead on lookout. I dashed the latter to the ground, pinned the Cog, and faced off against the Knight. At length I defeated him and was able to turn my full attention to the Cog. Holding it immobile, I closed my eyes and explored every rivet of its construction with my mind. That cargo-cult automaton became my world. I felt its joints, its motors, its gears, its wiring. I even felt the flickering spark of its borrowed awareness, the invisible strings tugging futilely against my grasp. The King's power may be greater, but it is stretched thin, so very thin.
Bending my will against that of my nemesis, I forced him from that metal shell and took hold of the strings myself. The Cog swayed, steadied... and then, at my direction, took a hesitant step forward. Backward. I laughed, and it clapped its hands.
I was jolted from my waking dream by a painful shock. The Cog fell with a clatter as I opened my eyes and saw that we had been joined in the lot by another group of Clockwork. I was prepared to fight them off, even as tired as I was, but then I saw still another group round the corner and decided to exercise the better part of valor.
By the time I'd gone a full block, I must have had every Clockwork in that part of the city on my heels. They came boiling out of alleys and parking structures and even sewer grates, like a plague of rats. Most of them were too far away to throw lightning at me, but I knew that would not last; I was already winded, while they would never tire. I altered my plan and course, struggling on towards the Perez gate, which I reached with only seconds to spare. Panting and shaking with relief and helpless mirth, I watched as my pursuers plunged heedlessly to their doom and vanished before my eyes (and those of the bewildered Paragon SWAT officers). When they were all gone, I dusted myself off and walked home triumphant.
Greater, yes... but not absolute. Thus am I revenged against him.
The Lion and the Unicorn
Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: "Do you know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!'"
"Well, now that we have seen each other," said the Unicorn, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?"
January 8 (later)
Today, while passing through Steel Canyon, I had my first encounter with a Kheldian. My overall impression was of a serpent, like a cobra, with a broad thick hood or body from which several short tentacles extended like a Medusa's crown, waving slowly. The head was indescribable. The creature was a pale blue all over and emitted a faint glow, and at times appeared semi-transparent, as if it was not entirely real. It flew by "swimming" through the air. Despite its utterly alien appearance, it was quite friendly.
I cannot say the same for the Clockwork I fought in Boomtown, although I was flattered to find I have made an impression on my adversary. His minions called me by name, with hate and dismay. I am sure now that they speak with the King's voice; I was tempted to reply to them in kind, but I prefer to keep my dignity and let my actions speak for themselves.
The King did show me a new trick this time: from a large pile of parts, he caused many small Clockwork to arise, assembled by direct application of his power. It was only by quickly and thoroughly scattering the pile with my own telekinesis that I was able to stop this spontaneous generation. Emboldened by my success, I completed my sweep of the building without further incident.
No matter what he throws at me, I will not be defeated.
January 10
Each day I become stronger. My telekinetic blows are swifter and have more force, my airspeed has increased (though long distances still tire and tax my concentration), and today I won a psychic duel against one of the Lost's mutated chiefs. Back and forth we strove, my freakish foe and I, along a catwalk suspended above the sewage; beat, parry, thrust, until finally he toppled with the grace of a mighty oak. A grand finale to a sordid tale - fitting that it should end in the sewers.
I have hardly had time to enjoy the comforts of my new abode, for I am usually out of it, dashing from one side of the city to the other on some heroic errand. Despite this hectic pace, I am in high spirits. I feel that events are piling upon themselves, faster and faster, as I draw near to my enemy. Soon I will be ready to face him. In the meantime, I confound and dismantle his agents wherever I find them - in Boomtown, in Kings Row, even here in Skyway.
January 12
It seems my endurance does have limits. Yesterday, while clearing out a Tsoo tattoo parlor with some other heroes, I was overwhelmed and beaten senseless. I awoke in the hospital with fading bruises and a splitting headache. It took every ounce of my self-control not to dominate the entire ward into silence. Instead, I checked myself out and returned to my apartment to recuperate in peace and quiet. After a night's rest and many ibuprofen, I feel almost human.
No more distractions, no more delays. No Tsoo, no Vahzilok, no Trolls, no Fifth Column or Council. I must be focused.
January 15
My leads have dried up. None of my contacts can provide me with any new information. I have hunted over this city from Boomtown to Faultline, destroyed dozens more of his puppets, and I am no closer to finding the Clockwork King. At times I imagine I can sense his mental presence as part of Paragon's psychic background hum, but it is impossible to localize. (Not to mention that "listening" for very long tends to bring back my recent headache.)
Perhaps I should simply follow through on my original intention: gather up my observations and belongings, say my farewells, and return to my own world. But I fear I would always consider this a bit of unfinished business, an unsolved riddle. I have not come this far only to give up and slink home.
It is not in my nature to trust to luck, but it was luck that led me here in the first place, almost six months ago. If not for my chance encounter with those Portal explorers (and my decision to follow them when I sensed how hard they were trying to avoid notice), I would still be home, living a quiet anonymous life, hiding my powers instead of exploring their potential. Perhaps luck will open another door for me now.
January 16
I am a fool. Of course I should have spoken to Positron sooner; by all accounts, he is the most technically adept of the Surviving Eight and the most knowledgeable about the Clockwork. While he could not tell me much I did not already know, he did direct me to one of his comrades, the speedster Synapse. I am on my way to the park to consult with him.
What a motley bunch. Still, I've seen worse.
A quick note - there is little time. We have slain the giant and are now pressing on to the last warehouse, to beard the lion in his den. I am giddy at the thought of finally meeting my opponent face to face.
The Paragon Times, January 17, 2005
(City section, page C3, column 4)
Clockwork King's time runs out
SKYWAY CITY - The menace of the Clockwork King was ended
yesterday, at least for a while, when a group of heroes under
the direction of Synapse tracked the archvillain to a hideout in
southern Skyway and defeated him. The King was taken into
custody and is currently being held in Zigursky Prison pending
arraignment on multiple charges of assault, theft, vandalism,
criminal mischief and reckless endangerment.
The heroes, codenamed Task Force Hurricane by Synapse,
spent much of the day foiling the Clockwork King's latest plot
to steal the resources of Paragon City for his own ends. As
afternoon turned to evening, they began their hunt for the
King himself. Their search led them into the area of Skyway
City known as the "Land of the Lost," to an epic street fight
with the giant mechanical monster Babbage, and finally to the
King's latest lair--an abandoned tool and die shop at 122nd
and Daedalus. According to the heroes, the building (once
owned by Castle Machine Products) had been converted to
the manufacture of more Clockwork robots.
"It was pretty freaky," reported one of Hurricane's seven
members, the hero Force-. "All the windows had been
covered with sheet metal, and the lights were dim and
flickered a lot, so we could hardly see. There were piles of
parts and junk and half-finished Clocks lying around every-
where... live ones, too. Lots of them. By the time we got
through them all, I wanted to go home and go to bed."
Task Force Hurricane found the Clockwork King holding court
from a platform surrounded by generators and other electrical
equipment of unknown purpose. He was quickly subdued, but
not without cost: one hero, the Watchmaker, took the worst
of the King's psychic assault and is still in a coma at Lagrange
Medical Center as of this writing.
"They went right for each other," task force leader LYK0S told
this reporter. "The whole time I was hacking at him and TK
[Thunda Kat] and Slithy [Toves] were beating on the little
ones swarming us, he kept screaming at Watchmaker--
with his mind, y'know?--and Watch, he was screaming right
back. It got so loud, it was like I could see the air between
them, and I only got a little of it. Finally the King goes down,
and at that exact same moment, Watchmaker keels over too,
blood coming out of his nose and ears. Never seen anything
like it."
Heroes Shower Curtain and Kira Ross were also part of Task
Force Hurricane, but declined to be interviewed for this
article.
Final Square
"Oh, how glad I am to get here! And what is this on my head?" she exclaimed in a tone of dismay, as she put her hands up to something very heavy, that fitted tight all around her head.
"But how can it have got there without my knowing it?" she said to herself, as she lifted it off, and set in on her lap to make out what it could possibly be.
It was a golden crown.
KANE SANITARIUM, FOUNDER'S FALLS
JANUARY 28, 2005, 1:13 p.m.
"Is he like this all the time?"
"Actually, this is one of his better days. Most of the time he's unresponsive, almost catatonic."
"It's so sad. Such a brilliant mind..."
"It's always sad when someone loses their way. Especially a hero. Do you know if he has any family that we could contact?"
"No, he never mentioned anyone. Certainly no one here in Paragon."
"Well, he does have you, Miss Dempsey. And I'm sure he'll be glad that you came by to visit him."
"Thank you. You'll let me know if there's any change?"
"Of course."
A man sits alone in a small white room. His hair and beard are unkempt. He wears an old tweed jacket and trousers that have seen better days. In his lap is a book and in his hand is a crayon, which is all they will give him. His handwriting - once neat and precise, now a scrawl - is an exact match for that of the Clockwork King.
i am him
he is me
my eyes stare back
floating
naked brain
no mouth to scream with
dying in agony
shattered limbs
phantoms
nothing left but memory
this is what comes of not wanting to die
still hear
echoes
part of me now
part of him?
i am even the natural fool of fortune
use me well you shall have ransom
A tapping at the glass attracts his attention. He puts down the crayon and turns to smile fondly at the tiny Gear perched upon the window sill. There is only one today, though sometimes there are more. They come to pay homage to him in his exile.
For he is their king.
( End. )
