[09] Star Light, Star Bright <Epilogue>

[Karl Jak]

Round 9​

Tommy Oliver – You’ll eventually make it back to camp, but you’ll find that the place has been ransacked, despite the best efforts by all the Syntech crew. No one is quite sure what happened, but Kevin (along with whatever NPCs you’d like to still have alive, perhaps Trent and Kirsten) will tell you that it happened shortly after the quick onset of night. Nothing attacked the camp, but the non-Syntech survivors (about 8 individuals) simply went insane, lashing out at everyone, killing about a dozen of them, before running off into the jungle like maniacs. While you were off tracking down the monster, Karl Jak managed to launch a small surveying/mapping drone. The executive producer set off into the jungle with ‘a bit of his own madness in his eyes’ en route to some ‘temple’. You can stay with Kevin in the camp to help the survivors… survive/deal with the most recent trauma, or you can pursue Karl Jak. Just be clear what your intentions are in your post. Deadpool will likely pursue Karl, but he won’t actively force you to do so.

Misha, Perry, Ronny, Droog – The xenomorph is circling in the darkness around you. Sasha only has so many bullets (I’m guessing, it’s been a decade since I’ve played TF2). Karl Jak will eventually stumble upon all of you as he heads to the temple. He’ll be armed with some improvised weapons but be focused on reaching the temple at other corner of the village. You can join him or get some sense of vengeance on the Alien, it’s your call.

Please post at least once before April 24th at 11:59 PM. This is the last time I intend to include a time limit, as I’ll assess and give out some tiny prizes after this. Anyone who wants to collaborate with me on the epilogue is free to do so.

 

[Aku]

Beforehand, proper scavenged supplies were found when the group was searching in the desolate ancient village. The merc in the red strapped with two clay barrels that contain bitumen, a resource that the natives once used long ago on this uncharted planet. Next to his side, Perry walks along steadily with a well-made slingshot in his right hand that perfectly fits in his little paws. Thankfully, the lawyer found a weapon for self-defense even though his appearance doesn't make him look like a fighter physically but a man who can verbally fight during a court case. Ronny and Droog followed behind Misha and Perry as they both led through the now darkened jungle.

The heavy weapons guy quits firing his weapon for a light source to reveal their pathway as the obnoxious whirring sound of barrels rotating cease. They found a giant rock that can be a platform to stand on top of during their stand-off when the murdering creature returns. Enough is enough; this thing now took two lives from this group. Vengeance boils within Misha to avenge his comrades from this savage alien, ready to crush this bug. Dusk weighs heavy upon this group, giving their threat an advantage to blend in the surrounding darkness.

"This is the place to set up." Misha flatly responds to Ronny's words spoken a minute ago while they trekked through the dense jungle. After they stopped walking, the Syntech mercenary loosens the straps that wrapped the barrels against his back to transition the barrels to the ground carefully. Misha slowly lets the barrels sit on the floor while Sasha gets positioned against the rock.

"I'm going to pour the bitumen around us where we stand on that rock, watching our backs. This stuff here is flammable to give us a good light source when facing that beast or catch it on fire." Misha explains what they are about to do in the grand scheme of killing that thing for his fallen comrades.

"Sasha is losing weight each time I fire her. She might run dry here soon. If that comes to the case, I will put our comrade killer down with bare hands." The heavy weapons expert mentions how the situation is looking on his part when they initiate combat. "I don't want to lose another comrade. This thing won't claim another tiny soul. We fight now." Misha continues while preparing to pour out the first barrel of liquid bitumen.

Perry nods and agreement, willing to fight for his life, knowing that Misha is relying on him. Ronny nods about going forward with the big Russian's plan, clutching his club tightly with both hands. The jet-blacked Carapacian gangster grabs his loaded pistol within his coat, cocking the gun back for preparation. Perry puts one of his hands in his pocket to make sure he has enough smooth stones he grabbed along the way for ammunition. Everyone begins to get into position on the rock's surface except the Syntech mercenary.

Misha shuffles around the rock, creating a ring of blackened liquid bitumen that spills on the jungle floor. After emptying the first barrel, he grabs the last one and pours another layer of bitumen to make the fire spread out more. Most of the nocturnal creatures echo throughout the jungle. The surrounding messed with their ears and couldn't tell if their predator was stalking them in the dark. Misha throws the barrel to the side and climbs up atop the rock, hoisting Sasha off the ground. "Lighter," Misha demanded on the spot, standing next to Droog while holding his minigun by the carrying handle in one hand and the other with the palm exposed, signaling for the lighter.

The gangster mutters underneath his breath, knowing he isn't going to see his lighter ever again, rummaging in his coat's pocket for what the bald Russian man requested. He plants the item in Misha's big palm, and the mercenary flicks the lighter open making a metallic click. The lighter ignites with one attempt by his giant fingers and tosses it a couple of feet away from them, hitting the ring of bitumen. Combustion happens, and the circle of fire ignites, killing off the darkness surrounding the rock. The air heats up around them after igniting the fire.

Everyone grabs hold of their weapons and prepares for combat, Perry stretching his slingshot back with a stone, Droog aiming his gun out in front of him, Ronny grasping his club tightly while aware of his surroundings, and Misha spinning Sasha's barrels that roar to life.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The merc in red lets out a thunderous war cry that shook the trees near them, scaring any small critters within the vicinity. In the jungle, the alien monster becomes attracted by the echoing warcry. It witnesses the fiery bright scene that the survivors made and stood in the center of the rock, with their backs turned against each other close together. Misha's eyes stared back into the jungle with rage, ready to unleash for Della's and Michael's passing.

The alien's vision locks onto the scene, and it notices that the heavy weapons expert is staring right back into its soulless black skull visor even though all the Misha can see is the darkness that encases the jungle surrounding them.

 

[Jason Lee Scott]

Trent gasped as he leaned back against his makeshift cover. He was out of ammo, and out of luck. He had sworn that he would never suffer the same fate as… well, he had already, but his chances were looking poor at the moment.

The insane warriors had returned. They’d been hired for various reasons originally, but all of them were supposed to be sane and level headed. They’d proven that wrong already, as they’d slaughtered half of the encampment before fleeing into the woods. That hadn’t been enough, apparently, because some of them had returned to finish the fight, and Trent had been one of the few armed well enough to hold them slightly at bay. Admittedly, it was his own determination that kept him going. He had lost it all before, and he refused to lose again.

Easier said than done.

The flimsy barricade he was hiding behind was literally ripped from the ground to his great shock, and he could only gasp as he looked into the savage eyes of a deranged mercenary he had once hid behind. Trent tried to bring his gun up in time to fire at the man, but he was too slow. The savage grabbed his weapon, and threw it aside. Whether it went five feet or five miles didn’t really matter, it was beyond being any help at this point. The man raised his arm to strike, and Trent could only watch with wide eyes.

To his great surprise, the insane merc was ripped backwards. Trent watched as Tommy Oliver pulled the man back and sucker punched him as hard as he could. The maddened mercenary thrashed back at Tommy with superhuman strength, catching his hand in his already damaged armor. Tommy only looked shocked for a moment at the damage his opponent was able to do, but quickly recovered and delivered two devastating punches to his enemy’s face. They stunned him, but didn’t down him. Tommy was happy to follow that up with a swift jumpkick, which sent his enemy rolling away.

Trent watched as Tommy landed and shed the green chest armor he’d worn this entire time. The mutilated chestplate fell to the ground revealed he was only wearing a pure white tanktop underneath, but Tommy Oliver did not appear to be the slightest bit concerned with his lack of defense. In fact, he appeared more alive that ever. He was once again working the mission that Zordon had given him years before: protect the innocent.

“So now you serve Karl Jak again!?” Trent shouted to the returning hero.

“I serve… a higher authority,” Tommy replied with an edge of cockiness, as he was already locked onto the next two foes.

They rushed forward, and Tommy was quick to charge and meet them. He jumped between his opponents, leaping as high as he could and swinging his legs at each, landing a simultaneous kick on each one’s face. They bounced away from the attack while Tommy landed effortlessly, one falling to the ground and another bracing himself against the nearest tree to recover. Tommy moved in on the one still standing, bashing his face into the tree before hurling him backwards. The other was clambering to his feet, but Tommy closed the gap with lightning efficiency.

Maddened by the world around him, he lashed out at Tommy, who blocked with effortless discipline. The man swung three more blows that were easily deflected. Tommy replied with a succession of quick retaliatory jabs. While his foe was stunned Tommy grabbed him and hurled him into the nearest tree he could find. As that opponent sank to the ground, Tommy looked for his newest ally.

Deadpool had impaled the nearest and last two enemies on his swords, and quickly ripped them free. Declining to openly comment on his ability to accomplish just as much with far fewer words, the merc with a mouth merely nodded to the retired Ranger.

“You good!?” Tommy shouted to the red clad warrior.

“Yea, but- oh thank fuck he figured out the right shade of red,” Deadpool shouted, collecting himself after changing topic momentarily. “But where’s Karl Jak!?”

“He left!” Kevin replied as he moved from the surviving Syntech employees. “He was looking for some temple he found with a drone. Didn’t say why, just left.”

Tommy cursed to himself as he looked over the weakened survivors.

“With no plan for how to hold out here,” Tommy grumbled.

“They’ll be fine,” Deadpool waved his hand dismissively. “I’m going to find Karl.”

“I should have known you were the type to abandon the innocent,” Tommy was quick to spit at Deadpool.

“Hey! I am the nicest guy!” Deadpool retorted quickly and defensively while pointing a finger at Tommy. “I would have won this Charlie and the Chocolate Factory bullshit last time it came up if I’d just kicked that dog off the dock! I would have gotten my shit stomped in the epilogue, but Alex didn’t even get around to writing it that year!”

Tommy shook his head, long past trying to comprehend what his strange ally was talking about.

“There’s more of those nutcases out there, and no telling what the jungle has,” Tommy reminded Deadpool.

“And we need Karl Jak if we’re going to get out of here,” Deadpool reasoned. “Also, I really miss him. We’ve bonded. It’s a been a years long process, don’t try to understand it.”

“Then I’ll train the survivors, you bring Karl Jak back here,” Tommy decided.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Deadpool scoffed. “I’m not your NPC anymore after this post.”

Tommy closed his eyes and rubbed his head slowly.

“He’ll probably, maybe want to come back,” Deadpool shrugged. “I’ll see when I find him.”

“Good luck, then,” Tommy simply said. What else could he add?

The two partners briefly shook hands, and Deadpool turned and disappeared into the jungle. Tommy took a moment to size up what he had. Untrained, scared people in a new environment with little to utilize. It was going to be a challenge, but Tommy was beginning to remember the right way wasn’t always the easiest.

He took a deep breath and walked towards the survivors. It was time for day one of training.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Ronny’s mind was a wreck as the remaining survivors gazed into the darkness, more or less ready to face their alien foe. He had been through a little too much a little too quickly and he wasn’t really sure how to deal with it anymore. Overwhelmed by the whole situation, the lawyer kept his eyes locked on the jungle around them and raised his club above his head, mimicking Misha’s battle cry.

“YAAAAAAAAAGH!” He cried. Though the attorney’s roar was far less intimidating than that of the minigun-wielding mercenary, his spirit was… well, also less intimidating, but not quite to the same degree. Ron kept his club trained at the darkness before him, every flicker of the flames looking like an alien beast stalking through the darkness to his panic-stricken eyes. Though he did his best to put on a brave display, the salaryman’s inner thoughts held much less bravado.

“We’re fucked.” He thought to himself. “Mom, Dad, thank you for having me, thank you for raising me, but I’m pretty much dead.”

Fear and despair running through him, his only lifeline, a flimsy club, Ronny glanced towards the heavy. Despite the dire situation, despite the fact that the group had already lost two members… Hell, because of that fact, the mercenary stood resolute in their last stand, as if fear was a foreign concept to him. As far as the lawyer could tell, Misha considered death to be as bad as death. And in this situation, they may very well have been one and the same.

The reassurance that the Russian Goliath gave Ron was minor, but it was enough to stop the quaking of his knees and the chattering of his teeth. He still knew that the odds were stacked against them, that their last stand very well could be suicide, but their stalwart rock in the fight gave him the confidence to at least go out looking his killer in the weird eyeless skull face, and while he may not have known his comrades beyond their most basic traits, he guessed that they shared his defiance of their possible killer.

Standing off against the darkness, Ronny wondered if his allies thought that they could actually kill the monster. It was certainly an appealing thought, the idea that the group would live to see another day, but it simply didn’t seem realistic to the corporate suit. Glancing between the group, his doubts began to slowly fade. Even if it seemed impossible, even if their odds were next to nothing, maybe they had a chance. And if that chance was there, he was going to take it.

“Come on then, you son of a bitch.” He grumbled under his breath, his teeth clenched in a fusion of fear, anticipation, and defiance. “We’ll teach you not to fuck with Syntech.”

 

[Arthur Morgan]

In his own opinion, Perry the Platypus was woefully unprepared for a fight of this caliber.

For one thing, being a semi-aquatic egg-laying mammal, he was not big and sturdy like the Heavy Weapons Guy. Rather, he was small and lightweight, ill-equipped for piercing the hard outer shell their alien foe appeared to possess. He also did not have a hard, sturdy carapace like Diamonds Droog, nor did he possess a similarly survival-oriented mindset. Instead, Perry was squishy and furry— and what’s more, absolutely too soft-hearted for his own good.

Finally, the platypus most definitely was not like Ronny Syntech, with a clear dedication to the company he was named for. No, Perry had no attachment to the corporate nonsense he’d signed on with, didn’t believe in its mission of bloody entertainment. If given the chance, he would have been perfectly willing to leave this mess all behind if it meant he could have gone back to how things once were, with his owners, his boys, his family.

But one thing Perry the Platypus most certainly did have, was sheer grit. It was this grit that served him well when, all of a sudden, the alien simply… materialized behind the curtain of wavering orange flame, the evil thing’s black shell glittering splendidly in the firelight as it slunk towards them like some kind of demented panther.

The xenomorph was hard to keep track of at first, seeing as its form passed in and out of view behind the trunks of trees like a living shadow, but after they had caught sight of it once, its strange shape became much easier to keep a visual on. Each claw-tipped appendage padded silently through the jungle undergrowth as the xenomorph drew closer… closer... closer, its barb-tipped tail whipping back and forth like that of an agitated feline.

Although the beast’s distended cranium lacked any visible eyes, it was clear, at least to Perry whose every brain cell was screaming at him to flee, that the xenomorph was examining its prey very, very closely… searching for some method of breaching the blazing inferno crackling in a protective circle around them.

For now, it seemed that it was too fearful of the flickering tongues of heat to attempt it. That wouldn’t last long, Perry wagered.

The platypus shifted backward uneasily, the middle of his spine striking the rock at the center of the fiery ring. It had been a good choice of venue for a plan of this kind, he supposed, in that it practically forced them to put up a decent fight against the xenomorph. Like the tournament at the start of all this, only one victor would emerge from this particular arena— either the alien, or those who hoped to turn the cycle of predation around.

Perry could only hope it wouldn’t be the alien.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

For a moment, there was stillness. The alien merely watched them, this group of miserable survivors, and they watched it right back, the smell of desperate defiance simmering hotly the air. Or maybe that was just sweat and blood, Perry couldn’t be sure— it was awfully warm standing in the middle of a ring of fire, after all.

But, that sense of stillness and peace didn’t last long. One second, the alien was just standing there, staring at them, and the next it had scaled a nearby tree, clawing its way up the gnarled trunk in what seemed to be a split-second’s time, and promptly hurled itself bodily over the barrier of towering flame, directly for Perry and his compatriots!

The urge to scatter like rats was strong for the defenders, but the fire walled them in, forcing them to whirl around and face their foe. With a loud thump, the xenomorph landed heavily atop the rock in the middle of the ring, claws scraping noisily over the stone and scoring deep gouges across it. And there it perched, like a great big gargoyle, the firelight casting its emaciated, twisted body in a hellish red glow.

Slowly, the xenomorph looked down at the group, a rasping hiss leaving its throat, fangs bared and glistening with saliva. Its tail frisked about in the air behind it, hanging like the Grim Reaper’s scythe high over their heads.

Ronny Syntech gave an audible gulp. The xenomorph’s freaky skull-like face twitched in his direction, just slightly, and shit promptly hit the motherfucking fan.

In a blur of motion, the alien leapt from atop the boulder, pouncing on Ronny and towering above him like a cat lording over a screechy little canary. The xenomorph’s spear-tipped tail whipped around like a deadly scythe, forcing Misha to back off as he attempted to help and, in Droog’s case, prompting the Dersite to scramble backward in a bid to avoid being messily decapitated.

Weighing in at roughly 6 lbs and being overall much smaller and easier to miss, Perry merely raised his slingshot, a determined expression set upon his duck-billed face. As Ronny gaped up into the jaws of death, thick strands of rancid spit dripping onto his face as the xenomorph’s inner mandible emerged and prepared to punch through his skull, he whispered a quiet prayer under his breath. “Sweet merciful Karl…”

BONK!

The xenomorph froze as something struck it on the side of its elongated skull, pinging harmlessly off and onto the ground. Its inner mandible retracted with a throaty hiss—probably at the sheer indignity of the strike—head craning around to examine the tiny stone that had struck it. Then, it looked up at the stone’s source.

There Perry stood, striking a quite brave pose for a little platypus, prepping another stone with his slingshot. This, too, pinged uselessly off the alien’s hide, but that wasn’t Perry’s goal to begin with.

Now, he had the alien’s attention. Now, the real challenge could begin.

With a frustrated snarl, the xenomorph stamped on Ronny’s chest with enough force to crack his collar bone with a sickening pop, a strangled scream escaping the lawyer. Prehensile tail still thrashing about like a bullwhip, the xenomorph’s talons briefly dug into the Syntech employee’s chest, contemplative, before releasing him… and turning fully to face the pint-sized Agent P.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Suddenly, gunfire! A great, shrieking hail of bullets rained down on the alien’s crouched form, poised to leap in Perry’s direction. The xenomorph shrieked in mingled rage and pain, turning its sights on another: Misha, brandishing his signature heavy weapon, the last of his bullets expended on saving his furry friend.

With fierce speed and bared fangs, the monstrous, biomechanical-seeming creature raised up onto its hind legs, stalking toward the hulking man. It was about seven feet tall, several heads loftier than the mercenary and spitting mad. Despite this, Misha only pounded his fists together in anticipation of their fight, his face split into a maniacal grin and his eyes flashing with unchecked rage.

“Come on then, monster! Let us see what you can do when your foes are not so little!” the gallant Russian roared, setting Sasha aside with such great gentleness that it was like watching a mother handle a babe. He surged forward to meet the xenomorph, hands braced in front of him, preparing to execute one hell of a grapple.

The two collided, the lithe form of the alien wrapping dexterously around the stocky body of the mercenary. Its clawed fingers grasped at his skull even as the man’s hands clenched around its throat, the xenomorph’s tail snapping around to spear at the Heavy Weapons Guy’s chest.

Yet, at the last second, Perry bounded forward, leaping expertly onto the alien’s back and grabbing ahold of its shoulder protrusions like a pair of handlebars. Using his slingshot’s surprisingly strong twine sling as a makeshift rope, he wrapped it around the flailing tail, dragging it forcibly backward with all the strength his little arms could muster— effectively pinning the tail to another one of spiny growths on its back, preventing it from lashing out at Heavy.

Not expecting an attack from behind, the xenomorph distractedly swiped behind itself with one arm, its claws catching Perry fully across his furry body. The wickedly sharp talons raked over his chest, the force of the strike sending him flying, pitching head over tail into the flames.

Or he would have tumbled into the fire, if someone hadn’t caught him first. Dangling by the scruff of his neck, dazed and in pain, Perry blinked up into the scowling face of one incredibly put-upon Dersite gangster.

“You owe me for that,” Droog spat, dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground. Then, he raised his pistol—eliciting a flinch from Perry— and fired off several crack shots into the back of the xenomorph’s head, a sneer on his face all the while. It didn’t seem to phase it much, but, well. What the fuck ever.

Misha, meanwhile, was busy straining to pry the xenomorph’s deadly claws from his scalp. They dragged across his bald head, leaving deep marks that would’ve torn right down to the bone were it not for Heavy’s mighty grip on its arms. Even then, though, it’s similarly-taloned legs curved up to scratch at his stomach and chest, attempting to slice him to ribbons.

Finally, Misha seemed to get the upper hand— bodily throwing the xenomorph to the side, and straight into the open flames roaring around them. Unlike Perry, there was no one there to catch the flying alien, and it spilled through the fire in a hail of sparks, legs bending and uncurling like an unfortunate insect struck by a lit match, screeching in agony all the while.

After much flailing about and splitting the party’s eardrums with its wailing, the xenomorph eventually managed to… stagger out on the other side of the wall of flames, absolutely dripping with sizzling, acidic green blood. It turned to look at the party, fangs bared, and appeared to consider making a rush for them once more… before turning tail and disappearing, melting into the shadowy jungle night.

For a moment, there was silence save for the crackling of the fire… before Ronny spoke up, managing to drag himself up into a sitting position against the boulder. “Did… did we scare it off?”

“Maybe,” said Misha, staring out at the trees. The firelight cast strange, unnatural shadows over his face. “Maybe.”

Perry merely sighed in relief, a great big whooshing huff, and glanced down at the gigantic scratch marks marring his torso. Blood leaked sluggishly from the wounds, staining his teal fur crimson.

Tentatively, Perry reached inside his hat, pulling out a roll of duct tape. He began to wrap it around himself, wincing at the pain, and hoped that they might come across some better supplies soon.

 

[Karl Jak]

End Chapter 9
-Part 1-​

Karl Jak stood near the far end of the village. In the haze, he saw the other survivors scrambling around in the jungle as they tried to fight the xenomorph. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice told the executive producer to turn back around and continue through the partially concealed stone doorway. After all, if they had needed his help than surely, they would have incorporated him in some capacity, correct? Clearly, these writers didn’t require Karl Jak’s plot armor to deal with the solitary xenomorph.

“Clearly.” Karl muttered as he watched the xenomorph batter the tiny platypus like a fluffy dog smacking away a plushy toy.

Even so, as Karl observed, the survivors managed to somehow use their numbers advantage to their benefit. They seemed to descend upon the alien monster in waves, with one of their number crashing into the indomitable bulk of the creature just as it almost got the advantage over a peer. Hidden traps roared to life as flames bathed over the haggard beast, and its screeching scream pierced the night sky as it slithered off into the darkness.

***​

Misha took a knee as he cradled a still-steaming Sasha into his bulky yet battered arms. She was exceptionally light in his hands now, and he knew that soon she would be silenced—maybe not forever, but he doubted they’d run across ammunition on this planetoid anytime soon. Yet, the true tragedy was the scarring along her sides from the claws of the sleek beast. While the wounds hadn’t compromised the minigun’s functionality, they were still a testament to the harrowing nature of their short time in this jungle.

“Should we pursue it?”

The voice was that of Droog, who sported a noticeable limp as he approached one of the still-burning patches of pitch. While the blazing ring had provided an integral means to combat the monster’s elusive nature, it now only remained alight in a few places. Smears of acidic blood had tampered the flames, but nevertheless, they had served their purpose.

Ronny Syntech was the first one to offer a response. “Are you insane?” The lawyer’s face was partially obscured behind makeshift bandages. While his first brush with the creature had only painted him with a layer of viscous saliva, the greater scuffle had led him to take a few drops of blood spray to the cheek and forehead. Through fate or dumb luck, he’d managed to scrape away the volatile ichor but not before it hard burned through nearly to his skull. In the process, he’d lost the majority of the skin from three of the fingers on his right hand. While the pain was awe-inspiring, there was a deeper anguish that Ronny felt in his heart.

His hand was mangled. It would be a long while before he would ever be able to hold a pen and sign a document.

“It’s going to return,” Droog stressed when he noted that the wounded lawyer was starting to zone out a little. “If we don’t kill it, it could just as easily come at us in our sleep. All we did wa—”

“Back lion into corner,” Misha interrupted as he laboriously pushed himself up to a vertical position. “Fortunately,” the Heavy adjusted his grip on Sasha as he turned to look at Droog. “Wounded bear great match for wounded lion.”

“Now we’re talking about woodland creatures,” Ronny groaned as he turned his one good eye toward Perry. Their group’s own woodland critter looked like something bound together after a trip through an active garbage disposal. “You signed the liability waiver, right?”

The platypus scowled before diverting its focus to the jungle that surrounded them. While the fires still burned enough to illuminate their immediate area, it was a genuine mystery what lay beyond the boundaries of their current location. There was pure darkness outside the ring of fire, which meant they’d have to play a guessing game to locate either the village or the correct path back to the crashed Syntech vessel.

“We need to think of something,” Droog remarked as he stepped gingerly over a still smoldering spatter of pitch and seemed to try and spot something in the near absolute blackness that engulfed them. After a few moments, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to face to the three others, who had turned to him in anticipation of a potential course of action. “We’re not going to b—”

Something, in what was likely some form of demented irony, bite off Droog’s head before he could finish whatever thought he had. Blood sprayed from the freshly severed arteries as the corpse fell sideways into a patch of flames, causing the new corpse to be instantly subsumed by a wave of now roaring flames.

From the darkness, the xenomorph lurched forward and sneered—its scarred, cracked visage a haunting reminder that there was yet more work to be done this night.

 

[Karl Jak]

-Part 2-​

Misha pulled the trigger just a few seconds after he registered what the red was that had spattered across his face and chest.

For her part, Sasha roared into the night sky, and her aim was true—the alien once more screeched and hissed. Yet, the minigun was not to have its moment. After barely revving up to her full speed, Sasha suddenly lost her bark, as the hum of bullets was replaced by the sputter of empty chambers.

In the split-second it took for the Heavy to realize what had happened, the ailing alien pounced. The man collapsed backwards under the weight of the monster, whose body still dripped acidic blood from a variety of points. Misha, whose focus as one his foes jaws, grimaced as he felt lances of searing pain burrow into his legs.

A rock smacked the alien in the side of the head, and a moment later, Ronny lumbered forward and bashed a tree branch coated in still-searing pitch against the xenomorph’s skull. The alien monstrosity screeched before lashing out with the side of its head and spilling the lawyer back onto his haunches. While the xenomorph did take a pair of labored steps toward the momentarily dazed legal man, the creature was stopped by the bulk of the Russian once again crashing upon its back.

“Where are you going? We are not finished!” Misha growled through bloodstained teeth as he wrapped one bulky arm under the creature’s elongated jaw and used the other to grab its powerful, bladed tail. “Here’s a tip,” he grumbled as he jammed the blade beneath a boney spike by what was likely the creature’s shoulder blade. “Don’t t—”

Whatever stellar play on words that the Heavy had planned was lost when the xenomorph lurched backwards and slammed Misha into a tree. As he slid off, his hand caught the shoulder spike, and while he had hoped to remain his grip, the spine tore from the creature’s chitinous flesh. Misha lost his hold entirely as the dislodged spine tore from the alien’s back. Had the Russian not collapsed when he did, that initial spray of acidic blood would have likely caught him square in the face.

Ronny regained his bearings just in time to hurtle a nearby rock at the xenomorph before it could pounce on the stunned Russian. The stone had still been smoldering, but the adrenaline in Ronny’s veins burned stronger than the embers on the rock.

Nonplussed, the alien twisted and lurched forward, but its progress was impeded by a searing pain in its foot. Craning its neck, it saw the battered, bloodied platypus had stabbed it in the foot with its own dislodged spine. Teeth bared, the xenomorph moved to lash out with a fresh pain suddenly exploded into its chest.

When the xenomorph shifted its focus once more, it found itself staring across the length of a steel katana at an idiot in a red latex body suit.

“A DP by DP and a furry …. I’m sure Baron would be so proud of us all right now.” The mercenary remarked behind his mask before the grievously wounded alien slashed him across the throat, tearing through latex and flesh alike.

Ronny, scrambling to his feet, moved forward and crashed into the sword’s handle in an effort to drive it further into the side of the monster’s chest. While the lawyer won another labored hiss from the creature, he too was rewarded with a retaliatory strike that tore a deep line between his left radius and ulna.

Misha grimaced as he tried to get up, but the big Russian’s world was still unfocused, spinning, and muffled. He tried to clench his hands into the loose soil around him but whatever parts connected his brain to his extremities were no longer functioning normally. Through the haze, he still saw the shadow fall across him.

The xenomorph, blood still oozing from the sword that remained impaled into his chest, glared down at the heavy, heaving man. This one would be the first to die, but as the alien moved to take the first heady bite out of its prey’s side, a small teal animal crawled up onto Misha’s collapsed bulk and angrily gestured at the xenomorph with the dislodged shoulder spine. Although wounded and bloodied, the fire still burned strong in Perry’s eyes as he stared back at the beast.

The xenomorph snarled before lunging forward and closing its massive jaws around the platypus and severing Perry’s body at the waist. A few arterial sprays issued forth from the assortment of severed blood vessels before what remained of the platypus tumbled to the ground next to Misha.

Rolling over Misha with its good arm, the xenomorph went to lunge once again but was stopped by Ronny, who threw himself at the alien with an incoherent yell. The lawyer was batted aside, and as he fell, he caught a swipe of the xenomorph’s bladed tail that tore his stomach wide open.

Victorious, the xenomorph turned and stared down at Misha, who was slowly starting to see and hear normally. The mighty Russian had seen the tiny limbs, and while she had no bullets, Sasha could still be an effective weapon. Misha reached for the weapon, but a chitinous foot crashed down on his outstretched arm. The alien, seemingly toying with what remained of its foes, leaned down to sneer at the snarling Russian, but suddenly, the monster reeled back and screeched.

As Misha watched, something within the creature’s chest burst. Blood spattered and sputtered as the xenomorph’s barbed shoulder spine erupted from its own flesh before falling to the ground. A beat later, what remained of an indignant Perry tore free from the gaping wound, nothing but fur and adrenaline, and hit the ground just a few seconds before the xenomorph took its last, fitful screams and fell backwards into a silent heap.

“Comrade,” Misha dragged himself over to the dying platypus and, despite the acidic blood that would leave him with permanent scarring, pulled what remained of the creature into his big arms. “Rest now.”

With a smile, Perry the Platypus slipped free from this world.

 

[Karl Jak]

The xenomorph was dead, but in its wake, it had left behind a litany of corpses.

Ronny the lawyer lay in a heap, his one remaining good arm clenched tightly around his stomach, lest his organs start to spill out through the wound. His other arm had nearly been split in half after his elbow, and neither set of fingers had much use to them at this point.

The Heavy had shaken off what was likely a serious case of blunt force trauma to various parts of his body and made his way up to his feet. Sasha, her teeth long since expelled in pursuit of victory, was gripped in his mildly deformed fingers as he looked down at the tiny plot of loose dirt that housed their fallen friend.

“What… what now,” Ronny muttered through a grimace as he turned and stared at the dead man in the body suit. “Is that Wade Wilson?”

“Technically-speaking, but I lost my original writer, so now I’m essentially the discount version of the character… relegated to the occasional sarcastic or salt-infused fourth wall breaking moment. That or being an instrument of pseudo-divine fuckery.”

Despite having nearly been decapitated, Deadpool casually sat up, his hands tapping raw flesh that had once been a gaping wound. “A bit slow, but we’ll blame that on the jetlag.”

“How are you alive?” Ronny muttered as Deadpool walked over to the Heavy and pointed to his belt. When the big man simply tilted his head in confusion, the mercenary unhooked and removed the accessory before the protests could be made.

“… it’s my thing? Have you not watched my ‘Greatest Hits’ compilations? Read my autobiography… ‘Deadpool: Uncrowned Baron of Dante’s Abyss’?! Not dying is my schtick. That and the aforementioned thing where I say uncomfortable things that only the viewing audience will appreciate.”

“Of course, I ha— what are you?” Ronny muttered with little shame as Deadpool tore off what remained of the lawyer’s shirt and fashioned a crude cloth bandage. A beat later, he wrapped the the belt around the lawyer’s stomach and cinched it tight around the stomach wound. “Thank you?”

“No worries, NB for life, you know the deal.”

Ronny knew that Wade Wilson was both insane and prescient at the same time, but the lawyer was in too much pain to focus on that now. “But most of the others lost their … gifts, when the old world …”

“Was metaphorically nuked? Drowned in bathtub full of tea and salt?” Although it seemed like he had more to say, Deadpool paused and craned his neck to look at something that Ronny could not see in the darkness.

A voice issued forth from those shadows a few moments later. “Mr. Wilson was always a very … special little boy.”

“Ahh, my Karl.”

Karl, who seemed haggard and wearing something that barely constituted a suit, smiled faintly at Deadpool. “My favorite runner-up.”

The mercenary feigned getting shot, but before the flirting could really take off, the four were all suddenly bombarded with a horrifying, inhuman scream that seemed to come at them from all directions.

“What now?” Ronny whispered as he took a protective step toward Karl Jak.

“Whatever it is, we shouldn’t stay here,” Karl muttered. “There’s a temple hidden back near the village… we can take shelter there.”

A second scream—this one human—tore through the nearby foliage. The survivors had only a few seconds to turn and brace themselves as Kevin collapsed out of the tree cover and nearly steamrolled through Misha. The Russian caught the young aide before he tripped and broke his neck.

“Kevin?” Karl asked as the ginger glanced in his direction. The young man’s eyes were wide, and his face bore smears of blood.

“Run.”

“This way!” Karl screamed as he turned and headed back toward the landmark he had discovered earlier.

With the nonhuman chorus of shrieks and roars closing in around them, the five survivors made their mad dash toward what they hoped would be salvation.

***

Tommy Oliver was bloody, but the thick, black ichor that stained his beleaguered form hadn’t originated from him or any of the other survivors at the Syntech crash site.

Outside the shoddy metal and wood walls that the crews had erected over the last few hours, the forest of the planetoid had at once come to life, and it had done so in a display of brutality only capable of something that felt truly scorned. Thick black tendrils had torn through the walls, literally spearing survivors before trying to crush the life out of them. While the first assault had caught them by shock, Tommy and the others had learned that even this foul, limitless monster could be bled.

“Shore up the defenses!” Tommy screamed above the guttural roars that seemed like little more than a form of psychological warfare at this point. “Remember, when it attacks, to strike the roots as deep as possible. Each time it attacks us, we want it to suffer!”

Even as he prowled the ‘lines’ and barked orders, Tommy didn’t know what the endgame could feasibly be in this situation. They were already quite literally in the mouth of a monster, and with their ship both dead and partially cannibalized for their defenses, he wasn’t quite sure there was a light at the end of this tunnel.

***

They piled into the antechamber, and a moment later, Karl, Misha, and Deadpool were rolling the stone slab back over the entrance, tossing them all into a darkness that immediately seemed to trigger an immediate panic attack for Kevin.

In that pitch black, Misha fumbled for a means to light their path as a sudden and distinct crack of skin against cheek ended Kevin’s outburst. When Misha managed to spark a light using a dried root, he turned and noted that they had all made it.

“This light won’t last long,” he remarked as he looked at Kevin, who was in an upright fetal position against the far wall. A few feet away, Karl Jak was talking to Ronny about some etchings on the wall.

“It’s some type of… code. At least, I hope it’s something,” the producer mumbled as he traced his fingers along the hieroglyphs that adorned the red stone walls.

“Might be nothing,” Ronny spoke softly as he tried to lean in closer to the symbols. Much of what he saw made little sense… a lot of it just looked like lines and shapes and the occasional image of something that looked vaguely like an animal. “We could just be in someone’s pantry or wine cellar.”

“Don’t taunt me like that,” Karl grumbled. “I’d murder someone for a glass of malbec right about now,” he added as he stood up on his tiptoes and traced a line in the stone. “Here… try this line.”

While it hurt to make himself taller to reach the spot, Ronny didn’t want to disappoint the head of his company, so he got up on his own tiptoes and reached with his mangled digits. “I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary.”

Karl, who had failed to notice the shredded roast beef that that lawyer called his hand, grimaced at the sight before flagging Misha over. “Heavy,” he spoke as he gestured up. “I think there’s a recess or some sort of groove here. It might be something.”

Misha, who was tall enough to see what Karl was talking about, furrowed his brow as he followed the crease in the stone. “I see,” he replied as he placed both of his hands high on the wall and shoved forward with what remained of his vast reservoir of strength. While there was some resistance at first, the top few inches of the cramped room’s wall finally slid backwards and let out an audible ‘click’ that could be heard even over the clamor outside.

“What happens now?” Misha muttered as the room started to give way back to darkness as the burning root neared the end of its lifespan.

Before the answer could be had, the floor gave way beneath them all. While sudden, the descent was abrupt, as the group dropped above six feet, but just as they settled onto the ground, it suddenly tilted, ushering them all down a sharp decline into yet more darkness.

This time, no one was quite certain how long they slid, but when they finally stopped, all of them crashed against the cold stone ground just as sources of light in the nearby walls popped to life.

“Well, that was unpleasant.” Deadpool rose to his feet and glanced around the room, which seemed like some inane blend of future tech and ancient architecture. “Did we land in the Aztec Enterprise?” Deadpool quipped as he poked at the recessed lighting. The glowing light was encased behind a sort of glass polymer, and just a few feet away, a metal door seemed to provide the exit to this landing room. Aside from the lights and the exit, the rest of the room had the appearance of being hewn from stone a few thousand years prior.

“We should keep moving,” Misha remarked as he stepped over to the door and looked around its frame for some kind of button. When he found nothing that pleased him, he opted to start jamming his fingers between the halves of the door until he located enough leverage to start prying them apart.

As the mercenary worked, Karl again found himself glimpsing at the hieroglyphs on the walls. He still felt like there had to be some meaning to all of this. Wade was insane, but who was to say that they hadn’t located some sort of escape hatch? Karl had designed more inane constructions in his past so would it be a stretch to assume this planetoid had its own secrets as well?

“Mister… mister Jak.”

Karl turned at the sound of Kevin’s frail voice and saw that the young man was clearly in poor health. Whatever he had encountered in the forest had only let him go after exacting a heavy price on his body and mind.

“What’s the matter, Kevin?” Before Karl Jak could get an answer, two things happened in very quick succession. First, the Heavy got enough space to slid himself in between the doors and shove them open the rest of the way. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on that, the walls around them seized just once before three or four slimy black roots erupted through the red stone. Fresh shouts filled the small space as the group fell back through the pair of doors being held open by their burly companion. Once they were through, Misha let go and slid into their new confines, which quickly sprung to life with florescent lights from the walls and ceiling.

As Karl watched, additional lights flickered to life, revealing a corridor that stretched off into parts unknown. “I guess we have a destini—”

The sound of someone violently retching behind him caused the sentence to curdle in Karl’s mouth as he twisted sharply to see that Kevin had dropped to a knee. The young worker had his arms clasped around one another as he vomited what seemed to be oil from his mouth. The other survivors had given the sick man a wide berth, but it wasn’t so much the vomiting that concerned Karl as the fact that the bile seemed to be moving and twisting on its own.

“Mr. Jak,” Kevin murmured through some black fluid in his mouth as he looked up at his boss. “I don’t…”

“Don’t finish the line!” Deadpool suddenly shrieked as he stepped forward and hoisted a finger toward the ailing Syntech worker. “If you don’t finish the line, you can’t—”

Kevin’s chest split open down the middle as a roiling mass of black fluid tore through the young man’s beleaguered body. Struggling to coalesce into something a little more solid, the mass of writhing flesh-like tissue struck wetly across Ronny’s chest and tried to force itself into the lawyer’s facial orifices. The already mangled legal man backed up into the wall and squeezed his eyes closed, but before he felt the chilling assault of the fleshly mass, Misha had peeled it off and threw it against the far wall. Before the unknown mass could move, Deadpool stabbed it a half dozen times for good measure.

As Mr. Wilson hacked away at the writhing mass, all other eyes moved to Kevin, who lay half-dead near the door. The young man tried to will words from his blood-soaked lips, but as Karl crept closer, he was stopped dead in his track when his assistant’s ribcage burst like a bomb. The CEO felt something scrap across his face just below his right eye as something else crashed into the back of his leg and sent him falling backwards.

“Keep. Moving!” Misha bellowed as the lights flickered down the length of the hallway. Beyond the stone walls, they could all hear the renewed rumblings of something quite literally tearing its way through soil and stone to reach them.

Leaving behind Kevin’s still wide-eyed corpse, they fled deeper into the hallway, which now shuddered around them. Back in the darkness, something smashed through the stone, and one of the hallway’s lights flickered before being consumed into the seething blackness that now started to surge toward them.

Misha reached the doorway first, and with little more than adrenaline and muscles, he pried it apart without stopping to hunt down whatever secret mechanisms may have shifted the stone. Karl and Deadpool were through the small gap, but behind them, all three heard the sound of Ronny tripping and collapsing in the corridor.

“Just go!”

The Heavy, leaving Karl and Deadpool to brace the door, moved away to retrieve the collapsed lawyer just as the tunnel started to collapse. A giant piece of the ceiling gave way, but as Ronny braced for the inevitable embrace of the end, he was granted instead by some dirt crumbs and a Russian man quite literally holding the world aloft above him.

“GO!” Misha bellowed as he struggled beneath the collapsed slab of stone. Out in the darkness, he could hear the slithering madness drawing closer. Craning his neck one last time, he saw that Ronny was through the door, and with a sneer, he dropped the slab behind him and charged the unknown monster as the tunnel collapsed around them.

***​

Despite Misha’s heroics, the remaining threesome was not safe. Even as the tunnel behind them was buried beneath tons of stone and dirt, they were yet pursued. A light at the end of the corridor they had fled into beckoned them forward, but behind them, the massive stone door shuddered as something forced its way through the seams of the seemingly ancient construction.

“I’ll scout ahead!” Deadpool decreed as he pushed his remaining sword against Karl’s chest, turned, and headed toward the other end of the hall as the door shuddered.

“How is it alive?” Karl muttered as whatever foul beast started to shove open the door.

“It won’t be for long,” Ronny remarked as he grabbed the katana from Karl and stepped toward the now cracked open door.

“What are you doing?” Karl shouted as he grabbed the lawyer by the shoulder.

“Form A-17, Section 88, Clause 04.” Ronny spoke sternly as he shrugged off his boss’ grip and tensed up as he steadied his mangled grip around the shaft of the weapon. He stole one look over his shoulder at the executive producer and furrowed his brow. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Karl replied. “The ‘My life for the greater good of Syntech’ clause’.”

“And there is no greater good of Syntech than you, Sir,” Ronny muttered as he steeled himself.

“Did you file a Z-21?”

Ronny’s expression softened just a little as the faintest hint of a smile spread across his beleaguered, bruised visage. “And the Supplementary Addendum. Stamp and notarized.”

“Kai speed,” Karl whispered as he backed away.

The lawyer waited just a moment longer—just enough time to know he would fit through the shuddering doorway—and then he leapt right into the darkness. Deadpool’s katana, forged as it was out of something immune to xenomorph blood and most everything else, sank cleanly into the oily flesh of the beast in the shadows. Ronny heard the screams as the mass rumbled beneath him, but more than that, he heard the doors slam behind him as the now shuddering monster reached around and crushed him.

***​

Tommy Oliver lay huddled near the center of the campsite with those who had endured the siege. The Power Ranger’s eyes had a glassiness to them as he tried not to nod off, understanding full well that he wouldn’t regain consciousness if he did.

A hand fell on his shoulder as a familiar face leaned in to congratulate him.

“We did it! … Tommy?

"Tommy!"

Fin?​

 

[Karl Jak]

Epilogue​

I always have and likely always will connote passage of time on MT with 'real world' time (call it a side effect of hosting seasonal events or previous experience on websites where time meant literally nothing, hence my usage of actual time markers in the post below.

With Ronny gone, Karl Jak stumbled ahead into the dark. Somewhere further down this new passage, Deadpool could be heard loudly traversing a path for his companion. “What’s up there, Mr. Wilson?” The producer spoke in hushed tones as he pressed a hand against his hip and hustled to catch up to the eccentric mercenary.

“Whole lot of nothing?” Deadpool quipped as he could be heard smacking his palms against a few spots. “One of these has to be a pressure plate, right? I mean… the two of us should have enough plot armor that we should be able to find a— ah-ha!”

Karl winced as some light flooded into the corridor from a split in the wall. By the time he had caught up to Deadpool, the split had become a gap wide enough for both of the svelte men to slip through. “By all means,” Deadpool waved Karl through the opening first. With his wounds, it wasn’t an altogether pleasant experience, but the man in the ravaged purple attire managed to slip onto the other side of the wall.

“You’re next,” he replied as both heard the sudden crash of tumbling stone and the shriek of the monstrous entity who had been pursuing them. Without a second thought, Deadpool had taken hold of his side of the wall and was pulling it closed. “What are you doing? There’s time!”

The mercenary paused to wink at the producer. “We both know that no one wants to keep reading (or typing) – this red text, mon amour. But don’t you fret … being runner-up to you is the best a boy could ask for.”

With an echoing thud, the wall slid shut in front of Karl Jak, and as it did, the hallway away him light up as recessed light fixtures flickered to life. Holding a forearm over his face to partially shield his eyes, Karl took small steps forward while he waited for his vision to fully adjust. By the time his sight was functioning as it should, the man had made his way up to a slightly ajar ‘door’ in the sandstone structure.

“I don’t see a fire escape sign,” Karl muttered before glancing over his shoulder. The man frowned softly when he realized that he was the only one left. Most audiences would have probably looked at the situation and appreciate the irony that the host of the ‘murder events’ found himself alone at the end of a real life equivalent. To Karl, however, he had walked this pathway before, in the aftermath of Central City’s near razing at the hands of the Red Stallions. Even a few lifetimes removed from that experience, he'd never forgot the feeling he felt wandering the refugee camps and gradually learning that most of the people he’d worked with were dead.

Stumbling through door, Karl immediately lost his balance and collapsed to the floor just as the automatic lights in the chamber flickered to life. With his hands and knees freshly scraped open, the producer spent a moment trying to catch his breath as he watched the grime- and blood-stained sweat drip from his hunched over head.

“Seen better days,” Karl reassured himself as he lifted his head and found himself nearly face to face with an embalmed corpse resting on a weathered throne. “Lovely,” the producer muttered as he shakily shambled up to a fully vertical position and started to hobble his way toward the body.

As Karl neared the figure, his attention was drawn to the myriad symbols that decorated this chamber. Even more so than in previous passages and corridors in the temple complex, the iconography seemed barely decipherable. In another time, Karl would have likely been able to think up a means to translate, but that was a lifetime ago.

With his mind drifting a little, the producer was nearly jolted out of his skin when the corpse’s eyes opened, and the seated figure leaned forward in his throne. “Hello, Karl Jak. I had wondered if you would make it down here.”

In his careers, Karl had seen a lot, so once that initial startle subsided, it wasn’t too much of an unnerving situation to find himself talking to a mummified corpse. “Hello,” the producer muttered as he corrected his posture and stared into the blue eyes of the animated body. “I don’t know if anyone has told you this before, but you look terrible.”

The seated figure shook his head. “I have spent so much of my remaining strength influencing the will of that masked madman in your retinue.” As the mummy shifted, Karl noted that his form was shackled into the throne he sat upon. “There are things I wish to tell you before this shell is expired.”

“Where are we?” Karl asked.

“You are in a region of the cosmos called the Crossroads,” the mummy replied. “A colloquial name, but one whose meaning aligns well with the reality of this place. This … region is home to diverse Worlds and countless cultures and peoples. Eight Worlds exist, and at their heart are Eight Arbiters.”

“Glad to hear it,” the producer replied as he spied a handful of hieroglyphs that looked more akin to traditional cave drawings.

“What you are attempting to subtly glance at is a depiction the Ninth Arbiter.”

Karl noted that the etchings seemed to depict nine small individuals assembled against a larger shape that seemed to be … on fire? Twinkling? It was hard to tell for a man who made his money in television and business. “There are ten figures.”

“There are ten Arbiters,” the desiccated figure had a short coughing fit. “Eons ago, at the birth of the Crossroads, the Ninth Arbiter looked with scorn upon the others, who used their gifts to shape Worlds and breath life into what was an otherwise empty stretch of infinity. In crafting these places, the Arbiters in turn developed a symbiotic relationship with their creations. The will of the Arbiters breaths life, but it is the will of their creations that sustains this life force. Here, beyond the veil of the Crossroads, life flourished.

“The Ninth Arbiter was, by its very nature, a hostile entity. It looked derisively upon the others and attempted to manipulate and subvert their creations, but in doing so, its strength eventually waned. In the end, it fell into the Unmaking.”

The producer frowned. “The what?”

“The opposite of life,” the mummy wheezed. “If the creation of life and the realms of the Crossroads is breathing life from nothing, the Unmaking is the natural opposite of that. Darkness. Desolation. Unlife.”

“It’s always cosmic space gods,” Karl whispered softly. Whether they be kais or something else, there was also something that pulled the puppet strings. “I appreciate the story,” he muttered to the figure. “But I’m not sure where you’re trying to go with this story.”

The mummy’s toothless mouth curled into what seemed to be a faint smile. “I said there were ten Arbiters.”

A man who, by his very nature, was the architect of manufactured drama and televised storylines, Karl Jak had gotten fairly adept at telegraphing twists and turns, and even after who knows how many days of survival mode, that part of his soul remained wholly intact. “And you are the tenth.”

The mummy nodded. “The others failed to see the danger after the Ninth had been Unmade. They failed to realize that, rather than dissipating into that great nothing, the Ninth became reborn within it… The Ninth Arbiter fell into that great darkness of unlife and became the very personification of it. Over the eons, the others started to grow complacent… and the spark of life started to fade across the Worlds of the Crossroads, and as that spark fizzled, the balances started to tilt. The Fallen Arbiter started to grow stronger in the dark, death of space.”

Karl simply nodded his head.

“I saw what was happening eons ago,” the mummy lamented. “I saw the first glimpses of the unmaking made flesh … you recall the horrors that chased you to this place?”

“The ones that murdered everyone?” Karl stated. “Yes, I couldn’t have missed those if I tried.”

“They are but a taste of the Fallen Arbiter’s corrupting and destructive influence. I have tried… in vain, to prevent what is to come,” the figure continued. “The others have gone silent, or perhaps worse, they exist in denial of what has festered in the shadows around them. Some even dream as the nightmare closes in around us. The others have, for their own reasons, refused to see what has grown angry, bitter, and strong among the graveyard of their progenies, and I fear we are long beyond the point of no return…

“Once, I was a regal king, and my people and I strode proudly among the stars. The others called me restless, because I chose to roam the Crossroads, but it was because of this that I saw the signs. I saw the horrors first-hand, and I have spent untold eons and sacrificed everything to prevent the Fallen Arbiter from resurfacing. I have tried so hard to prevent the veil, which has been probed and poked, from being torn asunder. The last of my people died…” the mummy paused, and his gaze seemed to wander for a moment. While his body was mostly ravaged, the eyes of this pitiful entity conveyed an ocean of sorrow. “They perished so long ago, but I carry them and their ancestors with me,” the Arbiter touched his chest.

“I understand,” Karl replied in a hushed whisper as he saw young Kevin die before his eyes twice. Even thought he had lost the quasi-divinity he’d experience within the old verse, Karl didn’t need to be anything more than an ordinary man to feel that pain and humiliation.”

“Everyone has their reasons for their sacrifices,” the mummy spoke as Karl’s focus was pulled back to him. “My people, much like yours, had their reasons. I took their sacrifices and endured, but there are limits. My World, as you may have experienced, is eroded and crumbled, and the darkness has rooted here. I have entombed myself… embedded myself, into this last shard of Osgiliath and goaded… taunted the unmaking to take me.”

“Why?”

The mummy frowned. “It was the … only remaining option, Karl Jak. Without the support of the other Arbiters, and with my people and World drained of life, there was little else for me to do but pull the focus of the great shadow. If it spent eons digesting me than that is time it might otherwise not have to ensnare the others.”

Karl looked around. “I think you’re out of time,” he remarked as his mind drifted to the screaming, skittering monstrosity that had slain the others.

“I know,” the mummy whispered. “I have had his whispers in my thoughts for lifetimes already. He has sought to break my will… to make me willing join him in the black.”

“The Fallen Arbiter?”

“He is close and soon he will be made manifest,” the Arbiter muttered. “And the others are so very susceptible… I fear they will be quickly overcome. Many of them may still slumber or laze about, even as their Worlds have stagnated.”

“They sound like they deserve what’s to come.”

The mummy shook his head. “They don’t know any better. You cannot fault the stars for shining, and you cannot fault them for believing that the Cycle cannot change. I should have been more forceful… I myself am guilty of not innovating… of not thinking outside the box. Our collective hubris has let the darkness breach the veil.”

“So why the charade?” Karl asked. “You said you’ve been in Wade’s head to try and guide us here.”

“Guide you here,” the Arbiter wheezed as leaned his withered, shackled husk of a body and drew a broken sword from a compartment behind his throne. “My strength is nearly gone, but the Fallen Arbiter is not immune to same hubris that his peers suffer. He believes he had me trapped in here, but he will not have me.”

“I don’t understand,” the man remarked.

The mummy extended the weapon, which consisted of a handle and about eight inches of broken blade. “Strike me down.”

Karl took the sword without breaking his gaze from the desiccated form. “You’re asking me to euthanize you?”

“This vessel is nearly gone,” the Arbiter spoke in a tone that felt somehow shifted from the way he had spoken previously. “When the last of our strength ebbs, the Unmaking will have us both. We cannot allow that. The spark must endure. I cannot allow myself or the Arbiter to fall to corruption. Time has come to start anew. You were the only one who could have served as a vessel… you are the only one who could carry this burden.”

“That makes no sense,” Karl wheezed as he felt fresh pain in his chest. “I have no interest in being the joy ride for a cosmic space god.”

“Without our spark, you will die down here, Karl Jak,” the mummy coughed. “And you denigrate what it means to be connected? You, who yearns so desperately to be accepted, to be appreciated? You who crafted the death from memories and rainbows? You are the only one who could understand the burden we have born over the countless eons. Only you, who were so desperate to not be alone that you once took your own life.”

“How do you—”

“Would you rather die once more of your own accord?”

“I’m just a glorified showman!” Karl shouted.

“If you think that, you’re much dumber than I thought,” the mummy rasped. “The dark is coming, Karl Jak. Will you confront the dark side or will you exit stage left? Will you relegate your people, like mine, to the nothing? Because you were too afraid of what could be?”

“No.”

“Then strike me down, you coward!”

Karl stepped forward and jammed the broken blade into the chest of the mummified man.[/COLOR][/COLOR]

***​

Wade Wilson, his eyes still glued to the unmoving ‘corpse’ of the corruption, wheezed as he pressed a hand to the gouging stab wounds in his abdomen. Despite his ability to heal, he nevertheless experienced pain and discomfort like most people, but this was an agony that had no comparison. The fact that his body was no longer healing itself only added to the mercenary’s unease as he watched the shadow monster start to move.

“We had a good run, Baron…” the madman coughed as he tried to shimmy himself backwards toward the wall as the formerly dazed beast slowly regained its bearings. “No, no… don’t cry for me. You can still win that grand championship. It just… won’t be with this daft old face … No, no, it’s too late for schemes.” The monster screeched and shrieked as it started to bore down on the injured mercenary, who sagged down to the floor against the wall. “Before I go… I just want to tell you that you were fantastic.” Deadpool smiled softly. “And you know what? So was I.”

As the darkness crushed down around him, there was a fleeting moment where Deadpool felt the cold, smothering embrace of infinity.

And then – just like that – there was a rumble and a thunderclap.

With a screech, the darkness was ripped to shreds in a brilliant deluge of light.

Eyes still pressed shut, it took Wade Wilson until a count of ten for him to slowly open his eyes. Once he had, he found that the hallway was not only wholly illuminated, but he saw a fully be-suited Karl Jak standing, hand outstretched toward him.

“What are you waiting for, Mr. Wilson?” Karl asked as the unnatural glimmer in the producer’s eyes faded. “Or would you prefer to die down here?”

Deadpool smiled, but for once in his trans-dimensional existence, words didn’t come easy to the mercenary, who accepted the help to his feet.

“You really pulled out that speech?” Karl asked.

The mercenary pointed to the roof. “You gotta play to your foster author every now and again, right?”

Karl rolled his eyes. “We’re leaving.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***​

The camp was a slaughterhouse.

“They’re all dead,” Deadpool astutely observed as he nudged the corpse of Tommy Oliver with his boot.

The man in the immaculate purple suit shook his head. “No, not today,” he remarked as he crouched down over the dead teenager. “Not. Today.”

Deadpool tilted his head as he observed the look in Karl’s face as the man glared down at the dead body. Even though he had about a half dozen comments brewing in his erratic brain space, the mercenary got none of them out into the world before Tommy let out a gasp and sat up off the ground.

Gasping for breath, Tommy eventually managed to calm himself down. “What happened?” He whispered as he looked down and saw that he was holding a large, star-shaped stone in his hand.

“Keep that,” Karl replied. “You never know when you might need it.”

Before Tommy could respond, a shadow fell over the trio, and Deadpool let out a yelp as he slipped into a crouch behind Karl Jak.

“It’s our rescue,” the producer calmly muttered as the frigate started its descent. “I’ll need your help loading up the bodies, Wade. I need to salvage what I can from the Ark.”

“Why me?” Deadpool groaned. “Why can’t the teenager with attitude do it?”

“Because he’s already gone.”

Deapdool frowned, but then he looked over and saw that Tommy Oliver had vanished. “Did he run off? Was he a legit ninja kung fu master?”

“He’s safe,” Karl chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” As the frigate descended onto the surface of the cursed planetoid, the producer smiled faintly.

***​

As Karl Jak, Wade Wilson, and the corpses of a few dozen Syntech employees were being loaded aboard the shipping frigate, something dark and vile seethed in the furthest reaches of the Crossroads. Far from the shipping lanes. Far from the travel limits of even the bravest of space captains. Far from the life and vigor of the Crossroads, a great seething miasma coated the cosmos. Skittering beasts darted too and fro across what might seem—to the naïve astronomer—like a nearly black nebula. Asteroids and chunks of vessels who had gone beyond safe travel lanes seemed to drift, their surfaces seething with oily corruption.

At the heart of this dark nebula, something seismic seemed to shudder. Deep in those bleak, desolate crevices of space-time, a great darkness festered. A grey-skinned fist manifested among that hellish ether as something twisted and terrifying started to laugh in the cold void of space.

***​

December 2019

Karl Jak sat in the silence of a small, unimposing den. The small structure around him had been one of the first constructions on the site, which would eventually house Syntech upper management and guests. For the moment, the only completed building was a temporary one that gave people a space to escape to nap, shower, or eat.

A knock came at the door.

“It’s open,” Karl replied as one of the younger employees from Operations poked his head through the door. “Hello, Kevin.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jak,” Kevin replied as he stood up a little straighter and tried to fix his slightly unkempt head of red hair.

“You can relax, Kevin,” Karl retorted. “You’ve been my employee for years.” The CEO left out the part where Kevin had been torn to pieces and devoured by a screaming, unmade monster a few months ago.

“I know, Sir,” Kevin replied. “It’s just been a weird couple of months, that’s all. Things are still blurry.”

Karl nodded. “An unfortunate side effect of arriving here,” he remarked, conveniently leaving out the fact that he’d tried to make sure none of the previously dead had to live with the memories of their final moments on ‘the planetoid’. “What brings you here today?”

“My manager wanted me to send these reports over to you,” Kevin remarked as he produced a messenger bag and retrieved a three-ringer binder. “A lot of it is just ‘routine operations business’, but there are also some reports from other divisions near the end there.”

After accepting the binder, Karl leafed through some of the contents en route to the information that was likely at the back. Before he reached that section, he glanced up and smiled at the young man. “You put this together like this, didn’t you?” Kevin remained wordless, but there was a small tinge of red across his cheeks. “I know your manager, and he’s not this organized and details-oriented.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Care to summarize the field reports for me, Kevin?” Karl asked out of the blue.

“Uh, I…”

“You read them, didn’t you?”

“Well only for the purpose of indexing them for your later ease of access, Sir.”

“I’m just your boss, Kevin, not your commanding officer.”

“Sorry, Boss,” the young man replied as the point of Karl’s statement seemingly went high over his red head of hair. “I didn’t realize we had such an extensive network of off-home employees, especially so many that don’t seem to appear on public payroll.”

Karl laughed. “Some people have a job to not be found, Kevin.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” the CEO remarked. “I like to imagine that I’m approachable.”

“What are Arbiters and why do we have so much manpower looking for them?”

At that, Karl frowned a little. It wasn’t, like Kevin likely inferred, that he was upset by the question, but it was just the reality that their efforts had met little results. Karl knew they were running out of time, and while he had rough feelings where the Arbiters were and what they looked like, his crews had had little luck tracking them down, with one or two exceptions.

“They’re very important individuals on their Worlds,” Karl remarked.

“But so many of them barely seem to exist. It reads like you’re having those field crews chasing legends and historical figures.”

“It might feel that way.” Karl flipped through the pages of the dossier. His crews had found Cid Highwind with relative ease, and they had even spotted the Arbiter of Mesa Roja on a few occasions. Markov was a tougher nut to crack, because there was so much noise and suspicion within the city. Over the last weeks, Karl had also heard that his ‘pirate operatives’ had gotten leads on the location of the Dutchman, the legendary ship said to be helmed by Davy Jones. Erde, Kraw, and Inverxe had all been extremely difficult for different reasons, but progress was being made. Nostalgia was its own can of worms, because the World hadn’t existed in its current state before the tenth Arbiter had gotten locked into his downward death spiral with the Unmaking. “But they exist. We just have to keep looking. I know they’re out there.”

“How?”

“Intuition,” Karl replied, even though the correct answer would have literally been ‘because I feel them’.

“Well, I hope we find them, Boss, it seems important to you.”

Karl smiled. “Yes, yes, it is, Kevin.” More than that, they were running out of time. If Karl could feel the Fallen Arbiter in his gut… why couldn’t the others?”

The words of the mummified Arbiter rang all the more true.

But Karl was running out of time to break into the tombs of the Arbiters and stir them from their ‘slumber’.

A ringing from his pocket. After waving Kevin out of the room, Karl pressed the button and held the mobile up to his ear. “Go for Karl.”

“Hello, Mr. Jak.” The speaker was one of the foreman at the construction site. “I know you’re a busy man and all, but you might want to come see this Salvage crews found some stuff they think you’ll get a kick out of.”

With a faint smile, Karl nodded his head. “I’ll be over in twenty.”

***​

Mid-August 2020

Karl sighed as he clicked off the projector.

A gentle knock followed at the door of his study a few moments later.

“Who is it?” The CEO asked as he quickly dabbed away the wetness from the corners of his eyes.

“It’s Kevin.” A lingering silence followed. “UHh, your PA, Boss? May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Karl replied as he slid the projecting hardware into the corner of his study and slipped into his reading chair as the door creaked open. “What can I do for you, Kevin?”

“I just wanted to see if you had found what you were looking for in those reconstructed files, Mr. Jak? You’ve been locked up here in your personal suite for what feels like a week, so some members of upper management were getting concerned.”

Ignoring the question, Karl asked one of his own. “Did they report back from Opealon yet?”

Kevin nodded his head. “The pirate? Yes, we’ve verified that he’s … intact, Sir. As intact as one can be when you’re a squid sailor.”

“Mesa?”

“That’s the trucker lady, right?” Kevin waited to get a nod from his boss. “We verified her status about thirty-six hours ago.”

“So just Cid?”

“Reports are still pending, but it would seem that the, uh… the darkness.”

“Darkseid,” Karl muttered.

“It would seem that the Darkseid targeted Govermorne himself and personally undid—

“Unmade.”

“Yea, uhh, personally unmade the place. We’ve got field ops trying to get in touch with refugees, and our tech people are busy combining the Medium for any traces of recordings or audio from Govermorne in the moments leading up to its fall. We’ve also got reports of entities with similar profiles to what you encountered on the planetoid popping up on all Worlds, and—”

Someone came stumbling into the office. “It’s bad, Sir!”

Karl scowled. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

“We have reports coming in that Markov is under siege.”

“That doesn’t sound out of the ordinary,” Kevin remarked as he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a file folder. “Markov has an extensive history of getting.”

“Let him finish, Kevin,” Karl muttered as he held up a hand to silent his overeager assistant. “What’s going on, Stevens?”

Having had some time to collect himself after his long dash up to the CEO’s suite, Stevens was able to breathe a little smoother as he explained the situation. “It’s an army of the unmade, Sir. They’re being supported by something that matches those energy signatures you programmed into the systems.”

“Ember,” Karl scowled. “That’s two… two in the span of a few days,” he turned back to Kevin. “Are you sure you’ve had verified reports of the others since the fall of Govermorne?”

Kevin nodded. “Yes, our field representatives were able to track and verify everything. We had Ember triangulated to a region in the mountains just forty-eight hours ago… there was nothing wrong at that time. If Darkseid was there, it was recently.”

“He must have done something,” Karl whispered, more to himself than the two workers. “He must have already found out a way to mask himself.”

“He probably didn’t appreciate you launching a tactical warhead into Govermorne space, Boss.”

Karl laughed. “That was just a greeting,” he remarked. “It will take more than munitions to uproot this corruption.”

“What should we do about Markov, Boss?”

The man in the suit frowned as he walked over the window of his study and stared out across the majority of Syntech’s executive campus. “What do we have to spare?”

“Little,” the answer came from Stevens. “R&D hasn’t had time to ramp up production. We’re just a few days removed from the event concluding, Sir.”

Karl squeezed his hand into a fist and scowled toward the stars. He turned to face the pair after taking some time with his thoughts. “Get in touch with our operatives across the Markov. Tell them we’re going to send them all the surplus MREs and survival supplies from the last event.”

“That’s pretty forward thinking of you, Boss,” Kevin commented as he started to compose emails on his tablet.

“We need to bet on Markov to hold the line, because if they don’t …” Karl trailed off without finishing that thought. Neither Kevin or Stevens needed the grim reality spelled out for them, so they simply stood and waited for their boss to speak once more. “They have good people down there, even if the whole place is a bit… bleak and miserable for my tastes.”

“That’s it, Boss?”

“Have someone keep an eye on Major Mustang.”

“The guy from the event?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Not at all.”

“Dismissed.”

As Kevin and Stevens left, Karl let his knuckles slowly unclench as he let a long breath out and made it back to his desk. Sitting down, his eyes caught the glimmer of something high up on his bookshelf, and with a faint smile, he glanced up to see the broken sword glinting in the light of the setting sun.

***​

October 2020

“It’s been such a pleasure to have ye here in Arcadia over the last few days, Mister Jak,” the duck spoke in his distinct accent as he escorted his visitor from the royal court. “The young king will soon come of age, and I can only hope he will continue to listen to the wise counsel of his advisors.”

Karl nodded his head. “I am inclined to agree, and please, Scrooge, I’ve told you countless times to just call me ‘Karl’.”

The duck chuckled—a smirk-inducing fit of quacks that had never failed to entertain Karl over the duration of his trip. “I’m an old timer, so you’ll have to beg mah pardon once again.”

“Of course.” The pair rounded a corridor, and after a succession of quick turns, the Syntech CEO realized that they were charting a course away from the quarters where they royal family housed its visitors. “Where are we going, Scrooge? I trust you’re not tricking me into another one of those seedy brothels again, are you?”

Scrooge paused and laughed, his cane working overtime to keep the duck from tilting over. “It innit mah fault you can’t keep up with me!”

“I let you win,” Karl chuckled.

“I know yer a busy man.” Scrooge immediately started to continue his waddle toward parts unknown, leaving Karl to simply trust that the second-richest individual in the Crossroads wasn’t leading him to his doom. “But I have someone I’d like for you to meet.”

“Again, I hope this isn’t someone with shady ethics,” Karl ribbed. “Kai knows I’ve had my fair share of that from you.”

The duck stifled another laugh as he paused next to a seemingly nondescript steel door and gave it a rhythmic rap with the top of his cane. When the door thumped back a few moments later, Scrooge smiled as the entryway unlocked.

Karl Jak followed Scrooge McDuck into what seemed to be an unused bar. Sitting at the far end of the counter, an older woman in full military regalia sipped on whiskey.

“Karl,” Scrooge spoke as he waddled down to the bar and hopped into a stool on the far side of the woman. “This is General Leia Organa. Leia, this is Karl Jak, from Syntech Corporation.”

The woman had little subtly, so the producer was keen to notice the slight crinkle of her features when she heard the name of his company. “The blood sport guy. What a pleasure.”

Scrooge let out an audible groan as he finished pouring himself a scotch and proceeded to top off Leia’s drink. “Ye would be the first tah tell me that there’s more to someone than what meets the eye, Lassie.”

Dropping down onto the stool next to Leia, Karl first scooped up a bottle of cabernet from the back of the bar, and then he flashed the woman his brightest smile. “Yes, General Leia, the space woman. I heard all about your operation. You and your people did such a great job responding to the situation on Cevanti earlier this year.”

Leia bristled. “We had barely been in operation for a week.”

Scrooge took a long sip. “She doesn’t want to say it, but her equipment is outdated.”

The woman twisted to face the duck, who didn’t flinch in the face of an otherwise withering stare.

“Her pilots are still green. Her ships are in disrepair. Even if she wanted to confront Darkseid, it would be a suicide mission.”

“Would you like to air all my faults, Scrooge?” Leia retorted as the Duck smiled from the top of his scotch glass.

“Mr. Jak, you have mentioned in our previous conversations that you wish you had more eyes in the skies, right?” Karl simply nodded as he sipped the cabernet. “And General, let us be frank, you require more money than you will ever make from charity. I brought the three of us together, because I believe we can come to an understanding that will help us to all meet our goals in the coming years.”

Karl shook his head even as a laugh spread across his face. “Always one for the theatrics and the backroom deal-making, Duck.”

A chortle and a fit of bubbles from the tall glass of scotch.

Leia turned back to Karl and gave him the once-over before taking a sip from her whiskey. “What skin do you have in this game, Mr. TV?”

The producer winked. “More than you can imagine.”

***​

May 2021

“Are you sure you really want to go ahead with your plans for this event, Boss?” Kevin asked as he once again found himself in Karl Jak’s private study. “You’re certain that the containment will work on the planetoid? It hasn’t necessarily been kind to our work crews over the last year.”

The producer nodded his head. “You worry too much, Kevin. The entire place has been terraformed, anyway, so you needn’t be concerned. It’s a nominal unmade presence. Or, at the very least, it’s one that we can control.”

“Nothing in our labs seems to imply that these things can be controlled,” Kevin muttered. “The only evidence we have for your theory is a trans-dimensional organism that has been, by its very nature, impossible to control, let along study or understand. More than that, the individuals we’ve collected have been nigh impossible to properly manage.”

“We’ll dispose of everything after wards,” Karl spoke. “The risks are worth it. People need to see the dangers of the Unmaking. Govermorne has been a memory for nearly a year. Even though the walls of Markov are still being repaired, you have people far and wide who don’t understand the present danger.”

“And you’re sure this is the best way to get this message across to the wider Crossroads?”

“It’s probably the only way,” Karl laughed. “Most people don’t watch local news, but they tune into reruns of Dante’s Abyss every time we run the marathons, even for the old events.”

“Yea, that saiyan with the dumb hair and the goofy name remains very popular in many key demographics.”

Karl snickered. “The eternal nature of ‘being xtreme’ aside, Kevin, we need to make sure this is our biggest production yet. I want at least to double the audience from last year.”

“And you still want to run the R&D project trials simultaneously?”

“Yes.”

“Even though it will create a danger for the contestants?”

“They know the risks when they sign on the dotted line.”

“I’ll make sure Ronny triple-checks all the clauses on the contracts this year.”

“Thank you, Kevin,” Karl spoke as he waved away his PA and turned to a diorama laid out atop his coffee table. Kevin, who had spotted the crude construct on a few occasions over the last few weeks, believed it was supposed to be Opealon if you drained away all the water. The one time he had asked the question, his boss had simply told him that ‘this makes it easier to visual things.’

With Kevin gone, Karl frowned as he tried to see something in the model he had made. Something wasn’t right on Opealon. The Arbiter there had once again grown silent, and no one from Syntech’s field office in the City of Hope or the detachment stationed at Kirden Wharf had managed to corroborate any of Karl’s feelings in the matter.

The Fallen Arbiter would not remain idle. Karl Jak knew this, but aside from monitoring the unmaking across the Worlds and funneling money to ventures like the ARK, there were limits to what he could achieve. The corruption was erratic. One month, it would surge somewhere, and another month, it would seem to be concentrating elsewhere. Without an algorithm or some piece of technology to make accurate predictions, he was relying on his gut more than anything else.

In the corner of the study, a phone rang.

“Go for Karl,” the man responded after picking up the receiver.

“Hello, Mr. Jak, this is Kyle Gables.”

“You’re the … accountant for our field office in Markov, yes?” It was a rhetorical question. After all, Karl knew the name, position, face, and life story of every solitary Syntech employee. “What can I help you with today, Mr. Gables?”

“I’m sorry it’s me calling and not someone else, Sir, but we’ll be sending over some information. There are some rumors that the Kingdom may have managed to track the locations of the Fade’s lieutenants. The theory is that these two might carry the means or know the location of the Fade. Our ‘information’ on this topic is very reliable.”

Karl nodded his head. Ever since the siege, it had been impossible for anyone to locate Cevanti’s corrupted Arbiter. “Pass the information along when it’s convenient.”

“Understood, Sir. Take care.”

After putting the phone back on its hook, Karl paused for a few moments before making his way back to his desk. On a sticky note, he scrambled a simple memo to himself that read: ‘Ask R&D about JX progress – Cevanti??’

The Unmaking and its monstrous leader/embodiment would not rest until life was extinguished across the Crossroads. Karl glanced over to another one of his bookshelves and noted the number of other projects from the last year. Even if Darkseid couldn’t be stopped, the producer wouldn’t rest until he’d thrown everything and his great cache of kitchen sinks at the bastard.

Karl glanced up at the relic on the shelf. While it was part of him by proxy, it sat high up there as a terrible memento to lost time and failure to innovate.

Karl Jak was many things, but he was no simpleton. You don’t become the number one rated television serial across three dimensions without having some spark of ingenuity.