Distance

Hey there, Guardians fans (hell, even Guardians haters; whatever your stance on our flavor of nonsense, we're glad to see you)!  Here we are... Guardians Series #13!  Will this series prove to be a 'lucky' 13 or otherwise?  I mean, not to get all numerological on y'all or anything, but... 13's kind of UCI's lucky number, right?  I mean, Wave and all having occured on May 13th... eh, it may be a thing.  Fuck, I don't know- I've slept like four hours in the last three days; most of what I know at the moment is highly suspect, which is an unfortunate position to find yourself in when your day job is 'tour guide'.  Eh... digress, back to point.

Originally we had a very different idea of where this story was headed; the adjustments we made mid-week (completely gutting and rewriting the entire A-plot; unforeseen circumstances and all that. It happens) ended up making for a fun story (to write, anyhow- as far as your mileage, it may very well... uh, vary).  We Guardians hope you guys enjoy this week's cast of characters- many old friends are in this weeks' series, as well as a few new friends we're excited about (and we hope you will be, too).

Of course, it bears mentioning that we recommend reading these pieces in order- that said, tis the nature of e-feds for these promos to get posted in whatever order sometime between "hey, that's already up?!" and "holy shit, that's *just* going up?!"  Our bad; y'all already know.    Here's a handy-dandy guide to this week's adventure- at least, you know, theoretically.  Heh.


Guardians:  The Verge

Episode I - Disbarred
Writer: Alex Richards

Episode II - Discourse
Writer:  Bonnie Blue

Interlude - Disinterred
Writer:  Preecha Kamon

Episode III - Disrespected
Writer:  Andre Holmes

Episode IV - Distance
Writer:  the Polar Phantasm


On behalf of the entire Guardians writing team, I thank you for your support; we could probably write this crap without you guys, but it wouldn't be anywhere near as much fun.  <3  And now, without further ado... Guardians:  The Verge; Episode IV - Distance!

Stay frosty, y'all- and enjoy!

-B.


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[Scene: Near South Side Chicago, Illinois; more specifically, South Wabash Avenue. The trials of time and (post-Wave) tide have affected South Chicago as much as the rest of the world, though you'd be hard pressed to notice... the whole of South Side Chicago has always sort of seemed to be a bit bruised, a little puffy around the edges. All the fires of the Sanchez Administration have done is cast a bit more light on the situation... which, on the whole, isn't that much worse than it ever has been. Certainly it's not as bad as it is in much of the rest of the city; at least, by attrition, South Chicago has become a nicer place to live. We see our heroes in two small packs; first, leading the way, we see Armand de la Fontaine and Hophni. Hophni appears to be searching for someone or something, but straining as if looking ten thousand yards beyond himself... or a few hundred feet into another dimension, perhaps. Armand appears to be both assisting his friend and protecting him, gazing about as if expecting to be required to run 'damage control' duty. Behind this pair are an unlikely trio; well, two of them quite likely in a Guardians promo, for sure. Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm, co-founders of the Guardians and UCI World Tag Team Champions, follow Armand and Hophni cautiously awaiting whatever revelations or mysteries lie ahead; they are joined by newfound acquaintance and Speaker of the Renaissance Men, London's own Jack of Shadows. Jack - Hampshire, by given name - is a bit of a folk hero on his side of the pond, as well as a rising star among demonologists, occultists and various practitioners of magic worldwide. He has a look of disgusted fascination plastered on his face; before you judge, give the guy a bit of credit. He hasn't been to the 'States in quite a few years, never to Chicago... and definitely not since the Wave. Plus, he showed up here through a portal into the bar-base-church thing the Guardians have going now; that's gotta be confusing for anybody, much less an unassuming young magician from Dagenham. Noticing his expression, Polar gives the man (and, by extension, all of us) some exposition.]

Phantasm: South Chicago; ancestral homeland of the Bluesman tribe. Surprisingly intact, on the whole-

Hampshire: Really? That's sinister- almost like gentrification by attrition, then. Run out the native Bluesmen by making their pain and suffering a bloody ray of sunshine.

Bonnie: That's one way of looking at it, I guess-

Phantasm: Yes indeed. I think I like this guy, Bonnie.

Hampshire: Yeah, likewise, mate. You ever have anybody tell you about these ghosts?

[The sentence stops the Guardians in their tracks; they look to their unassuming looking young counterpart in confusion.]

Bonnie: Sorry, what was that?

Phantasm: There's ghosts?

Hampshire: Right... guess not, then. Here- give this chap a look.

[He digs into his pocket while gesturing with a nod toward the curb. Polar and Bonnie look, still showing signs of confusion; after all, they're not seeing anything but a lightpost, an electrical box and a USA Today paperbox. They look back just in time to see the Jack of Shadows produce a hand-rolled 'cigarette' from an ornate case.]

Phantasm: Heeey. Check that, Bonnie- I definitely like this guy.

Bonnie: Nice roll job, but... that doesn't smell like exactly like weed, Jack.

Hampshire: It's actually an herbal blend with a few adjustments, trade secret kinda stuff. You understand. Should help uncloud your third eyes.

[He lights up, taking the 'paper hit'; with a bit of a cough, he relates another essential piece of information.]

Hampshire: It's like 40% purple indica. Here.

Phantasm: You had me at 'purple indica', chum.

[Cameron Bankston, no stranger to this procedure - most of the time, anyway - hits the some-sort-of-spliff as he usually might; as the urge to cough hits him, he notices that Jack is still choked up a bit despite taking a smaller drag and being accustomed to its harshness. As he begins coughing he wonders, terrified, just what sort of hysterical choking fit he's in for... as he passes the smoke carefully to Bonnie (despite being doubled over and red in the face), he wonders if he's being an embarassment to his country by coughing like a lightweight in front of their ally from the UK.]

Bonnie: Is he gonna be ok?

Hampshire: Eventually- shoulda warned him it's got a kick, but he'd already taken on too much before I could speak a bloody syllable.

[Bonnie takes a small puff, passing back to Jack.]

Hampshire: Actually, is he gonna be alright? He have allergies or some such?

Bonnie: Nah, this happens a lot. Cam always starts big and works back from that as he goes... pretty much his theory with everything. You get used to it.

[Jack takes a puff, noticing the look of wonder creep into Bonnie's eyes... then lips, turning her face into an almost childlike smile.]

Bonnie: They're obviously sad... but they seem so...

Hampshire: Happy? Quite. That's the oddest part; you see ghosts that look miserable everywhere you go. These ghosts look especially miserable, but so damned casual about it! Polar, mate, you gettin' a look at this?

[Polar, rubbing his eyes, confirms to himself that he is, in fact, getting a look at this. He relays his thoughts as best as he can, given the circumstances.]

Phantasm (still coughing a bit): What'd I- *cough* -tell you, man? Ancestral homeland of the Bluesman tribe... complete with ancestors.

Bonnie: That's a thought- they're the spirits of the Blues! That's why this place has such soul; thousands of souls refusing to cross over, choosing instead to linger here and enjoy their communal misery for eternity!

Hampshire: Amazing- sixty second glimpse into the world of the supernatural and you two're Mulder and Scully.

Phantasm: My bad, man- we didn't mean nothin' by that. Just deductive reasoning...

Bonnie: ...yeah, sorry- it's kind of a thing we do. Since everything got so weird, reflex is to piece together the 'how' and 'why' of it all.

Hampshire: What? No need for apologies- wouldn't have shown you if I didn't think you'd figure out what you were seeing. You're right, by the way, about the spirits of this place... either way, I wasn't complaining- I happen to like Mulder and Scully.

[He gives a slightly embarrassed but completely unavoidable grin as he makes this admission... specifically, in the direction of the Daughter of Time.]

Hampshire: Especially Scully.

[Polar nods, either ignoring Jack's flirtations or oblivious to them.]

Phantasm: Yeah you right.

[Bonnie, though, is also stuck in a slightly embarrassed yet completely unavoidable grin; rather than express herself, she audibles quickly into pressing the current issue... or one of them, anyhow.]

Bonnie: Guys- where'd Armand and Hophni go?

[The boys look about; Polar shrugs as Jack sighs.]

Hampshire: Right, then- first few hours knowing you Guardians and I'm already mucking up your adventures.

Phantasm: Don't sweat it, man- complicating our lives and getting dragged on our adventures is a side effect of being our friend.

Bonnie: So I guess we just keep heading this way 'til we find 'em?

Phantasm: Yeah, that's the plan... that I'm making up as we go.

Bonnie: You wanna call 'em, or should we just hope we luck into 'em?

Hampshire: I could probably search for Hophni's trail within the astral plane.

Phantasm: Or we could just enjoy an afternoon in the city, the three of us... just take a few minutes to play tourist. Dig?

[Polar walks off with determination, embracing the moment of cluelessness with left-field improvisation almost worthy of Alex Richards (almost- no way Alex's idea for how to handle this situation wouldn't be more ridiculous in theory, more hilarious in application and more than double what is normally toxic for humans in blood alcohol content). Jack slows a bit, softly questioning his tremendously distracting new friend Bonnie.]

Hampshire: Is he always like this? "I've got a plan- here's what we're doing, now let's go"? No discussion, no anything?

Bonnie: Not always; when we're plotting missions or hunting intel, we're in on all that together... but once we're on the clock, so to speak, Polar calls the plays.

Hampshire: Well, then- when in Rome. Go team!


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We do not need more intellectual power, we need more spiritual power. We do not need more of the things that are seen, we need more of the things that are unseen. - Calvin Coolidge

"'Come on home, girl' he said with a smile
'You don't have to love me yet, let's get high a while...
but try to understand, try to understand...
try, try, try to understand...
I'm a magic man.'" - Heart, Magic Man

Born in the future, destined for glory in the past; her entire culture was wiped from existence in the blink of an eye. As a founding member of the Guardians, and with the aid of a wisecracking humanoid cat and a cybernetic Hank Brown, she uses her time traveling Ranchero to help defend the Metaverse and the UCI, the importance of which is as yet unknown. Time waits for no man, but it obeys one woman... THE DAUGHTER OF TIME, BONNIE BLUE!

Offbeat. Outlandish. Bizarre. These are just some of the words used to describe him, though they barely scratch the surface. The surreal is commonplace in his world, and random chance seems to be either his best friend or his guardian angel. Mimsy were the borogroves, and flubbity-wub-wub, flubbity-flubba-wub. What you see as gibberish makes perfect sense to... THE ARCHDUKE OF MASS CONFUSION, ALEX RICHARDS!

What is a man but what he perceives? Would a man who cannot hear be classified as less of a man for his handicap? Then what is a handicap but a challenge? In this world of distraction, it is easy to forget the cold precision of silence... but among all the bumping and blaring and bleating, one man exists apart. A man who sees, feels... knows more than most realize is there. Close your ears... open your mind. Now you can see... THE EDGE OF SILENCE, PREECHA KAMON!

It's a cold world out there; sometimes one has to dabble outside of the law to make ends meet. Sometimes one finds out they're really good at that sort of thing... then sometimes one wakes up one day and realizes what they've become and steps away from 'the life'. Some get killed... some get pressured back in... some get run out of town. Those people? They don't have enough moxie to make it, that's all. If life's one big chess game, then the secret to winning is to talk the other guy into tipping over his king. At least, that's the rather compelling worldview of ARMAND DE LA FONTAINE!

Born in a crack in time, he has seen the very edges of the multiverse and lived to tell the tales... tales which most brush off as the ramblings of an intense-looking lunatic, though a great many painful truths lay within. He is a man of great sight, great knowledge and many answers... though more often than not, they're answers to questions no one has yet thought to ask. Occasionally, they're questions no one in this dimension will ever think to ask. It's an occupational hazard when you can see the reality next door as easily as one might see a building. He calls himself Para-Pirutseo-Bal, but his 'friends' know him as HOPHNI!

Single father, honest man, incredible talent. All are great attibutes of this man, as strong a worker as the wrestling business has ever seen... but when you ask about him, that's rarely what you'll hear. The man is somewhat eclipsed by the monster that lurks within... a temper so legendary that he should come with a warning label. Kind, courageous, athletically gifted... heh. Ask his opponents and they'll tell you who he is. He is "RELENTLESS" ANDRE HOLMES!

Introduced to one another in a deathmatch, they became a team both in combat and in life. He, the Polar Phantasm, calculating yet comedic, intense yet irreverent... she, Nightmare, virtuous yet violent, belligerent yet beautiful. Together they work to defend this universe as strategist and infiltrationist (respectively) of the Guardians... they are THE UNSTABLE ELEMENTS!

Amongst the denizens of the underworld - and I'm not talking the 'criminal' underworld - he's public enemy number one. He's a rogue demonologist, practitioner of the mystical arts and generally an all-around ok guy once you get to know him; that all said, few and far between are those keen to stick around the seemingly cursed young man from East London. Personal and professional hangups aside, he has made great strides on behalf of the people of Earth as the founder (and Speaker) of the Renaissance Men, Earth's first global multinational metahuman peacekeeping organization! Say what you will about him, you've at least got to admit he's got his own... unique style. Yeah, that's a good way to put it... it's as good a description as any of the man they call "JACK OF SHADOWS"... JACK HAMPSHIRE!


[Since their inception in May of this year, mere days after the (still only vaguely defined) global phenomenon known as 'the Wave'*, the Guardians have known that there was more to their universe than they could currently comprehend (no matter how 'advanced' their previous experiences or complex backgrounds have prepared them). Knowing that space, time and reality had been altered somehow and to some degree was a game-changer for Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm; since that point, 'square one' if you will, they've consistently found themselves faced with more questions than they've found answers. They've discovered that their reality was in fact created, as a divergence of another reality, as a side effect of the Wave... and that their previous 'reality' still exists in some form without them seemingly unaltered by the Wave (save through their absence, one would guess). They've befriended an intelligent techno-organic vessel (say it with me now: space dragon), then made contact with hostile and friendly factions in a struggle for control of a galaxy-spanning empire based out of the Daran System in the Andromeda Galaxy; through no fault of their own, the team was thoroughly introduced to what post-Wave outer space is like within six weeks of foundation (ok, some of it was Polar's fault- it was his bright idea to go to the Daran System. That said, can you blame the guy? Blue-tinted space deserts make a kickass spring break destination). They have discovered that beneath the pleasant facade of their adopted home city's leadership lurks a regime built on greed, sadism, loathing and destruction... a regime devoid of values, created and staffed by monsters. Their search has opened many doors they neither knew existed or hoped to find; thrown wide open regardless, these doors have led to strange and wonderful corners of reality where the team has discovered good friends and horrible foes. That said, their search draws no closer to an end... wherever it takes them, the Guardians must continue to seek understanding as to the nature - and purpose - of their reality itself.]
(* - Apologies to various Creative Team homies, and much love as always; I just... ugh, please don't make me spell it with numbers. It gives me flashbacks to that dark period I spent in high school trolling my English teacher by writing essays in 'l33t'. There; now you know something embarrassing about me- we cool? Seriously, I even appreciate the use of the number 13 in the name 'cause it happened on May 13th; just can't do it. I encourage the rest of you to do it, though, if you feel it- except maybe the rest of the Guardians, who will unknowingly peer pressure me into doing it and I'll end up having flashbacks to ninth grade so hard I won't stop listening to Stabbing Westward and KMFDM and all my promos will be so fucking mopey and shit that they'll make Erin Fausse's seem like video of an adorable hippie girl singing REM's "Shiny Happy People" in comparison**. Heh. Trust me, nobody wants that; I'm kinda depressed just thinking about it, and if I put on the Stabbing Westward there's no possible scenario that doesn't end with me heartbroken about this girl I dated when I was fifteen. Worst part? Her name was Bonnie. Yikes. -B.)
(** - Much love Fausse- keep being grumpy so the rest of us don't have to be! <3 -B.)

[Today, the Guardians - more specifically, field leader and co-captain Bonnie Blue - made their first foray into being a part of the global post-Wave 'metahuman community'; Bonnie attended her first function as Guardians - UCIs, even; hell, America's - representative among the roster of Earth's first attempt at a global multi-national super-powered peacekeeping force. This group, calling themselves The Renaissance Men, have aims very much in line with those of the Guardians - at least, at the outset of the team; these days the Guardians' aim has been focused fairly squarely on City Hollow. During this first meeting with her new international comrades, Bonnie found herself drawn to (as well as quite, uh, unsettling to) Renaissance Men founder and leader (denoted as "Speaker" of the group) Jack Hampshire... Jack, known in occult circles as 'the Jack of Shadows', is London born and raised and as powerful a mage as one might hope (or fear) to meet in the streets of Johnny Rabid's United Kingdom. Following curiosity, lingering questions and (perhaps most pressingly) Bonnie herself, Jack has joined the Guardians at their new headquarters in Little China, Chicago, Illinois, USA... one can only wonder what he and the rest of the 'international metahuman community' think of the Drunken Dragon, much less post-Wave Shytown.]

[It's a day of big outings for the Guardians, for sure- while Alex Richards is in police custody awaiting booking somewhere in or around City Hollow, Guardians Preecha Kamon and Crystal 'Nightmare' Bankston have joined UCI juggernaut and Guardians associate 'Relentless' Andre Holmes in West Town for a bit of the old ultra-violence. But here, in South Side Chicago, Guardians Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm (along with Jack Hampshire and Guardians associate Armand de la Fontaine) follow their friend and 'spiritual consultant' Hophni on a heated hunt for answers. Is there truly a cosmic-level intelligence wandering the streets of South Side Chicago, and if so... what information would he have for our heroes and their associates? Would he know of their potential fates? What knows he of Guardian Jay Omega and the rebellion he has joined in the Daran System? Would he be able to tell them what Mayor Sanchez is planning at that very moment? Perhaps the biggest question the Guardians would have for this entity... would he know the origins of the Wave? Actually, scratch that- that'd be the second biggest question they'd have to ask him. The biggest, of course, would be... "Why did the Wave happen in the first place?"]

[It's a terribly important question that needs to be answered. The only thing that they know for sure about this entity, this... "Viewmaster" that they seek... is that he knows things Hampshire can't 'view' and Hophni can't 'divine'. Their only reasoning behind thoughts of the Viewmaster answering their burning questions is reasoning based entirely on hope. Logical creatures by nature, working off of hope alone is not entirely textbook for the Daughter of Time and the Icy Manipulator... but in this post-Wave universe, they get a fair bit of practice at loosey-goosey spur of the moment treasure hunts. Hunt well, Guardians- somewhere out there, perhaps deep within the earth or on a distant planet or in another era of time... somewhere out there exists an entity you've had mere whiffs and tastes of, and this entity shall soon demand to be heaped on your plates. As your last meal. Your final destination, however grisly a scene it may be, awaits you... there is but one thing standing in the way of the end, all things considered. Thankfully for the somewhat blissfully ignorant Guardians, there is a great bit of it still to go.]


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POLAR PHANTASM #13: Distance
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[Scene: Near South Side/South Loop, Chicago (more specifically, South Wabash Avenue). Polar strides confidently down the street, though with no particular hurry... after all, he's one-fifth of a party already two-fifths short, and he's quite unwilling to lose the two-fifths trailing him to the same fate as their other companions. They are, outwardly anyhow, looking for 'the Viewmaster'... situation being what it, currently, they're now relegated to hunting up Hophni and Armand. Confusion strains any relationship... distance, though, will inevitably cut any relationship to ribbons. What can be said of couples, partners and even pen pals can most certainly be said of field teams. Polar stops, glancing in a store window at a t-shirt reading "I CAN'T ADULT TODAY"; he wonders briefly if his wife already owns this shirt, and decides that if she doesn't it's only because she doesn't know it's a thing yet. He looks back, noticing his tag team partner well into conversation with their guest... he struggles not to snicker too loudly as he remembers a moment not even two weeks before when he caught his partner absolutely rocking the fuck out to Heart's "Magic Man", sighing slightly as he realizes he'd totally have had a 'line' for that moment- if it were to ever come around again, of course. Jack and Bonnie finally get close enough to where Polar can make out their topic of conversation; ah, yes... the finer points of demon classification. He begins moving once more, trying to guide the semi-oblivious pair while staying close enough to keep tabs... and also trying not to come off as the creepy eavesdropping weirdo he knows he's being. On some level, consciously or otherwise, Cam Bankston can tell when a fellow is interested in his tag team partner... it happens fairly often, as she's both attractive and intriguing in equally massive quantites. Whether he realizes he's doing it or not, Cam is trying to size Jack Hampshire up... and, likely oblivious once more, he's tipping the young Brit off with his inability to stay out of it.]

Hampshire: Probably the worst night of my adult life, honestly. There I was, surrounded by croaker demons- sounded like a pack of bleedin' bullfrogs size of bears, looked about like it too. And the smell- there isn't enough patchouli oil in creation to cover that up.

Bonnie: Mage like you, bet you know at least one stench removal spell.

Hampshire: Come to think of it, I might- in a book somewhere back home, I suppose. Wasn't high on the list to memorize, you understand- still trying to get down the intonation on the spell that does my dry cleaning.

[Polar very noticably laughs; he stops mid-stride, turning to his companions with a shocked and somewhat apologetic look.]

Phantasm: My bad; trying to leave y'all to it.

Bonnie: Why? You working on a plan or something?

Phantasm: No, I- wait, I should be doing that, shouldn't I? We still haven't kicked around strategy for Overload.

[Bonnie, previously blessed with an uncharacteristic wide-mouthed goofy grin, now focuses into her much more commonly seen 'thoughtful gaze'; Jack, however, must now climb back into a conversation suddenly derailed into very unexplored territory.]

Hampshire: You two planning a big mission, then?

Bonnie: We, uh, have a big match Sunday... our day job.

Phantasm: We're fighters- pro wrestlers, actually. UCI Tag Team Champions.

Hampshire: Wrestlers? Wow. You've gotta be in great shape, then.

Bonnie: Eh, I get by...

Phantasm: ...that's an understatement. Jack, believe it or not, Bonnie's about the best partner I've ever had... man, woman, old, young, black, white-

Bonnie: Alright, Cam, he gets it.

[Both Guardians are somewhat surprised by Bonnie's sudden curbing of Polar's usual ramble-compliment combo*, taken aback by her reflexive show of modesty.]
(* - technical term would be 'rambliments', but whatever; you don't read Guardians promos to learn fictional vocabulary words, right? Don't worry; groaner jokes and vague foreshadowing of future shit to follow... and eventually these fools will get around to talking about a wrestling match. Promise! -B.)

Bonnie: He's, uh- he's got a point though, we're good. We're the Champions for a reason, right?

Hampshire: Undoubtedly. So what's that like for you, anyway? Wrestling large men for fun and profit?

Bonnie: If it were only that simple, Jack.

Phantasm: Our team, the Guardians... we're in a prolonged struggle with a faction called the Syndicate. Whereas our 'other jobs' are as heroes, public defenders... they're the guys who're running this town.

Bonnie: Our opponents are Taylor Wright and David Sanchez. Wright's got some sort of shady double-talk title which essentially boils down to 'glorified thug'-

Phantasm: -complete with office, secretary and carte blanche regarding who he steps on and how he steps on them-

Bonnie: -right, thanks Polar... and then Sanchez, you may already know even... he's the Mayor of Chicago.

Hampshire: The mayor? The actual mayor of this city; yeah? As we speak?

[Bonnie nods.]

Phantasm: Yep- name on the letterhead and everything.

Hampshire: And he's still wrestling? I mean, this is a major American city! Being mayor has to be a full-time job, what with- blast, at least a few million voters to please, if a dozen!

Phantasm: He's sort of streamlined the process.

Bonnie: ...he's turned government into a get-rich-quick scheme and sold the city and its people out every step of the way.

Phantasm: Made a lot of people nod and smile to him as he robbed them blind, too. One hell of a nemesis.

Hampshire: Sorry, just- seems so odd. And you're wrestling him Sunday? No offense, mate, but Yank politics seems stranger by the day.

Phantasm: No argument here- at least Sanchez is a problem I can reach out and wrap my hands around, you know? Most people are stuck just writing angry letters to City Hall. Every couple weeks, UCI sees fit to shove me and the Mayor of Chicago in a ring and ding a bell... it's therapeutic, if nothing else.

Bonnie: And y'all are one to talk, Mr. Hampshire... or would it be rude of me to remind our guest of his soon-to-be Prime Minister?

Hampshire: Oh, don't get me started- you're right, though, if anything we're worse. You've let a heel wrestler run your town; we're putting a heel wrestler in charge of the whole fucking country. No way Scotland doesn't break up with us after that bastard's at the reigns; just a matter of time, now.

Phantasm: Not a big Johnny Rabid fan, then?

Hampshire: I'd rather Johnny Rotten as PM; at least that burned-out wanker's the kind of daft that might work out for us. Rabid's just as much the mental case, but he's likely to nuke everything before breakfast as easily as he may order scones with his tea. Not to change subject, but- after this, fancy a spot?

Bonnie: I wouldn't make plans just yet, but that's a serious maybe; let's see what the cosmic-level entity has in store first.

Phantasm: Looks like you've got something else in common with Bonnie...

Hampshire: Yeah?

Bonnie: I really, really hate Johnny Rabid. It's a mutual thing; has to be. The guy's practically stalked me most o'my wrestling career... I don't think I could take living under his 'rule' for five minutes 'fore I started plotting some good ol' gunpowder treason.

[All three smile at this; before anyone mentions the fifth of November, Polar finishes off his 'bit'.]

Phantasm: Oh- yeah, that too. I was gonna say... both of you like scones.

[Bonnie rolls her eyes; Polar gives a sly grin. Jack just shakes his head.]

Hampshire: You Guardians are alright. So tell me, then, how does a champion tag team prepare for a match against a crooked mayor and his henchman?

[He looks to Bonnie; despite Polar's position in front of (and moving away from) her, Bonnie looks to Polar. Like practiced basketball teammates make no-look passes on fast breaks, Guardians Phantasm and Blue have gotten pretty damn good at non-verbal (hell, practically telepathic) communication.]

Phantasm: First thing we do is look for obvious weaknesses; we've tangled with these two a few times before, so it's probably a moot point... but Wright's probably gotten together with Alex by now, or will shortly.

Bonnie: Ah, shoot- shame that Alex might be doing some of our work for us 'fore Sunday, ain't it?

Hampshire: Alex is... a friend of yours, then?

Bonnie: Alex Richards, one of our teammates; he and Wright had it out at Beachmania a week or two ago over fate of Alex's bar - the old one, I mean, not the new one - Alex saves the bar, Wright's sour grapes mean it gets burned down anyway.

Hampshire: I'd say this bloke Wright earned whatever he collects from your mate Alex, then. Not a bad turn of events, all things considered...

Phantasm: Well, that's assuming a lot... but yeah, if Alex got his pound of flesh, mo' better for us. Either way, anytime we're across the ring from Sanchez it's no picnic; I doubt any mayor in human history could throw down harder than that fucker. Hits like a freight train, fights like he can't feel pain... he just keeps coming no matter what you do to put him down.

Hampshire: Sounds like the bloody Terminator.

Bonnie: It's not a bad comparison; he doesn't really lose, you know? He's the first double-champion in UCI's history, short as that is... and it's two singles titles he's holding at once. Can't even remember last time I've seen that...

Phantasm: ...guy's a fuckin' beast, no doubt. Only hope I've got there is that Sanch is starting to wear some... his team's spotty, he's got two titles and a couple of million people weighing on his head... a head that's full of bad wiring and self-loathing, driven by everything from thoughts of his dead wife to reflective disgust at how far he's slipped into the abyss and how fast he's slipping even deeper.

Bonnie: I guess it's possible- when I look in the man's eyes, though, I'm not sure I see a soul left in there to cry out for redemption.

Hampshire: As bad as Rabid?

[Bonnie just makes a seething, almost groaning sound- maybe a bit of animal growl in there? Needless to say, the reaction is very telling.]

Phantasm: Sanchez is crooked; Rabid is evil. She may be right, though- at some point, crooked can very easily turn into evil... and we're still not sure which category of fuckers contains our dear Mayor just yet. Wright's a maybe regarding injury, depending on Alex- maybe he went for him, found him, whooped his ass good and got out of there before he got popped; who knows, it's a toss-up. Either way, he's had enough Alex in the last month or so to where he's softened up and primed for a genuine bonafide pinfall loss, clean 3-count mid-ring.

Bonnie: And, of course, as his respectable co-worker types... we should give him what he's waiting for. Neighborly thing to do 'n all.

Phantasm: Sanchez is the issue; doesn't matter if Wright's hopping on one foot, Sanchez is gonna be at full power, full speed and full volume. Best case, one of us can hamstring him long enough to get Wright on the mat and tie a bow on that shit; then we can get in, get a win and get out before we end up in a slugfest with those two, plus whatever the Syndicate may throw at us besides...

Hampshire: Divide and conquer; sometimes the classics are best.

Phantasm: Yeah you right.

Bonnie: Music to my ears, Jack.

[From about a hundred feet away, they hear a shout over the din of early evening Chicago... it sounds like a somewhat exhausted man yelling the word "gardens", and only if one was straining to understand the shout. A piercing whistle comes at the trio a second later; not only does this grab their attention, it actually temporarily beats back the sounds of the city as if through sonic intimidation. The whistle's source is quickly identified as a sweaty Armand de la Fontaine; not used to this shoe-leather burning thing, Armand has certainly had his fill of field work for the foreseeable future. He frantically waves to the team, shouting "Guardians!" much more clearly this time. They quickly scurry across the divided street, Polar in lead and Jack at rear; the two city boys, no stranger to life in a human game of Frogger, guide themselves and Bonnie safely across as they easily navigate the flowing stream of traffic. Suddenly, Jack stops them...]

Hampshire: Oh, hell- cover your ears.

[Moments later, as Armand and the others wonder why they're grown men (and woman) wearing hand-earmuffs in public, there is a loud crash behind them- then a second, third and fourth. And an explosion. Two more crashes; another explosion. Jack uncovers his ears, tearing up slightly.]

Hampshire: Every action and equal and opposite reaction... soon as we crossed the street, I heard the echoes of at least a dozen souls crying out from a few seconds away. Could be coincidence... could be us crossing caused someone to spill their coffee, starting a chain reaction that ended all those peoples' lives.

Bonnie: Oh, Jack- there's no way you could've known that-

Phantasm: -man, if you spend your whole life wondering if buying a gallon of milk at the store is gonna cause a dairy farmer to go crazy from work-related stress and go all Chris Benoit on his family, you're never gonna get anything done.

Bonnie: -uh, wow. Damn, Cam- he's right, though, Jack... strange an analogy as he drew, fact is accidents happen.

[There is a slight disgusted hiss from their slightly disheveled associate; you can take the boy out of France, but you can't take the Frenchman out of a Frenchman.]

Armand: You English- not everything in life is because of you, ok? This way, allons!*
(* - French, 'come on!' -B.)

[Without giving Jack (or the Guardians) chance to react to Armand's sudden display of snootiness, he rushes them off toward two men on a municipal green, seated on a bench. To be more thorough in this description, one man - Hophni, normal sized humanoid - sits on the bench... his companion, a massive and extremely dark-skinned man who appears to be homeless, perches himself onto roughly two-thirds of the bench in hope that the aging Second City public works project is in good enough repair to support an ambulatory ebony mountain. As the four approach, the large street-person speaks in a booming voice.]

Viewmaster: Daughter of Time. Silver-Tongued Pragmatist. Icy Manipulator. Jack of Shadows. I call you by your names as known by time; it has no need for given names, only names of legend.

Phantasm: Holy shit, Hophni- tell your homeboy to check his volume control, huh?

Viewmaster: Were I to speak in a whisper, you would hear me just the same- my voice only carries as much weight as the words I speak carry.

Hophni: Volume is just a measurement of space; space is infinite, therefore volume is infinite. Infinity is the dream; we are but finite, perhaps extremely so. Perhaps expediently so.

Armand: He's said that a few times now, on the way here first- what're you seeing, Hophni? We're finite how? I mean, we're strong but mortal... we're numerous but countable...

Phantasm: We're doomed. He's saying we're urging our own species into extinction.

Hampshire: Maybe he's saying there's a specific moment, though- 'expediently so', meaning suddenly and quickly, right?

Bonnie: Time's weird like that, Jack- stuff can take millions of years to happen 'suddenly and quickly'. All depends on your point of view.

Viewmaster: Wise words from the Daughter of Time; you are a credit to the people of this planet, young woman. What the Icy Manipulator said is very true, though not for the reasons imagined... humankind does urge its extinction, but in more dangerous ways than it ever had before the Wave.

[At first mention of the Wave, Hampshire and the two Guardians find themselves at rapt attention, listening intently... if, unlikely as it may seem, Hophni has located a jet-black overwhelmingly large omniscient oracle amongst Chicago's homeless, they might as well get their dime's worth out of the show... right?]

Viewmaster: In the time following the Wave, humankind has been rocked to sleep by foreign hands, serenaded by subversive subliminal signals while swaddled in clothes of ever deepening ignorance. In this time of ignorance, others seek to claim this planet- even further, this reality- for themselves...

Bonnie: Wait, I'm sorry- ugh, pardon my manners. What'd you say your name was, sir?

[She reaches a hand out tentatively, feeling obliged - perhaps required, even - to greet this... entity... as a fellow human. To her relief (somewhat, anyway) he reaches out a greasy palm roughly the size of her head and uses three of his fingers to handshake.]

Viewmaster: I am called 'Charm Kid' here in Chicago, and here on Earth. But I am known by time as you all are; I am not known for a given name, but by the name I am fated. You may call me the Viewmaster.

Phantasm: Charm Kid, eh? You sure you never worked for MCW out of Detroit?

Bonnie: Yeah, shit- man, you could do some serious damage in the ring. It's gotta be better than being out here on the streets.

Hampshire: Bonnie, luv- he's powerful enough to be anywhere he pleases, right? He's out here to keep an eye on things.

Bonnie: Ahh... being the Viewmaster is a day job and a night job, I guess. It's a shame; I bet you've got enough ups to pull off a moonsault, too.

Phantasm: Oh, totally- look at the calves on this dude. Sorry, Viewmaster- could you show my partner your- thanks. Bonnie, check it-

Bonnie: -friggin' tree trunks! Sugar, if you hit a leg lariat on somebody you might behead 'em. Maybe you should stay out here after all.

Phantasm: I- kinda wanna see that, now.

Hampshire: Sorry to interrupt, know I'm a guest here and all-

[Bonnie and Polar assure Jack he's not intruding... over one another, at length for about 60 seconds. During this time, Armand produces a barely audible (over the two gushing Guardians, anyway) low-tone hissing noise.]

Hampshire: -shouldn't we let Viewmaster here tell us what he's got on his mind before we start talking wrestling fantasies? No offense, mind you... I'm not used to your procedures, by any means; wrestling fantasies could incorporate heavily into how you do things, what with you being wrestlers. I'd have no clue.

Phantasm: Eh, it comes up more often than it seems like it should in regular conversation... but yeah, happens a lot 'cause wrestling. You get used to it after a while.

Bonnie: Hey! I like talking about wrestling! Sorry for the tangent and all... but in all fairness, if Vince McMahon ever finds out about this guy he's gonna send a capture team for him like they did in King Kong.

Phantasm: Ooh! Good one, partner.

[They high-five briefly. Jack's "shall we?" expression awaits them when they finish being obnoxious; meekly, they respond.]

Bonnie: Sorry, again. We're not always like this, we swear.

Phantasm: She's lying but for the right reasons. Alright, halftime's over- back to the Q&amp;A. Specifically- can we ask questions?

Hampshire: How should I know? It's still a free country, right? Couldn't hurt to give it a go.

Hophni: Answers are only the result of questions.

Phantasm: Viewmaster... what was the Wave? What was it, really? And why?

Viewmaster: The Wave was an adjustment to reality meant to subvert reality, exert force upon reality from the inside, change... everything. And it succeeded in those goals; past, present and future are apart from what was, is and would have been before the Wave.

Bonnie: Who did it, though? You said 'foreign hands', foreign to... humankind? Did aliens cause the Wave?

Viewmaster: What affect foreign hands may have had, the Wave had its origins here on Earth... outside influence was not without cooperation from inside influences.

Phantasm: Sanchez.

Bonnie: Maybe.

Hampshire: Thing about mysteries, mate- the easy answer, the one right in front of you? Hardly ever the right answer.

Bonnie: Exactly.

Phantasm: Fuck, it's like there's two of you. How 'bout it, Viewmaster- what's going on with Sanchez? Mayor of Chicago; he in on the Wave?

Viewmaster: The Wave changed more than can be appreciated at first glance; if one were to examine the fabric of this reality up close, one would notice that the cause has led to a great many effects equally as reprehensible... these dark motives and darker actions have bled together, making the evils apparent in this reality difficult to separate. I cannot answer you as regarding your Mayor's involvement other than to say that there are the innocent and the guilty in the wake of this unwelcome tide. I leave it in your capable hands to decide which party your Mayor belongs to.

Bonnie: Somehow this guy's so much easier to talk to than Hophni but just as fuckin' hard to understand...

Phantasm: ...I'm reading him loud and clear, mostly. Whether Sanchez was in on it from jump street, brought in later or being played a patsy it doesn't make much difference. There's good and bad in the world and he's running a city-sized 'bad' factory. Even if he's not the piece of shit that started this party, he's certainly picked up hosting duties.

Hampshire: We came here because we'd heard rumblings around the world about people having visions, speaking in tongues, having seizures- afterwards they're too terrified to explain what they saw. Viewmaster, do you know what those people have seen? Can you tell us?

Viewmaster: Of the evils of this reality, there are none greater. In all realities it exists; in the reality that was template for this one, it was separated from its body. This led to it possessing the bodies of others; a clone of a time god, the body of a murderer. It takes what form it can, what form gives it more substance... more room to stretch itself out and change spacetime to reflect its whims.

Hampshire: What does it look like? Where does it come from?

Viewmaster: It looks how it wishes to look... it came from the same place and time as creation itself. It has no conceivable definition your mortal minds can comprehend, though your species has given it a name. I give you this information in the hope that you, Daughter of Time and Icy Manipulator... and you, Jack of Shadows... can prepare your people in time to save this reality.

Phantasm: Fuck!

Hampshire: What?

Phantasm: Just once- like, just once fucking ever- I was hoping to find out that something wasn't trying to wipe out everything in existence. Just... fuck my life. Ugh.

Bonnie: You done, Cam?

Phantasm: Yeah... bitching won't do us any good, anyway. I just figured that news was due a tiny pissy-fit; all good.

Bonnie: Viewmaster, you said this entity has a name... it sounds a little bit like you're describing something we've come up against before.

Phantasm: Fuck- I had this sinking feeling, like you're gonna bring up-

Bonnie: -we call it 'the Dark Timekeeper'.

Phantasm: -and I'm sitting here like "oh please don't say Dark Timekeeper. Please don't-".

Viewmaster: Your feelings of dread are justified, Guardians. Your encounters with this entity have given you a taste of what it is capable of... but you will soon learn that is always has, always is and always will be somewhere, sometime... and at least every bit as reality-scarring and life-threatening as in your nightmares. Whatever nomer given, its true name amongst your kind has power over it; few things can claim such a feat, even the small modicum of power its name holds in this modern age is still amazing...! Knowledge is your most dangerous weapon always, Guardians- this weapon will serve you handily in your battles, should you use it well.

Hampshire: Right, then- so what's the bugger's name?

Viewmaster: Beware... Timastenzi!

[With this final tidbit of datum served, the Viewmaster - as if a switch was flipped on him somewhere - slumps forward slightly and loses consciousness. Hophni stands, stretching slightly; he looks to the others, now all awaiting his assessment of this recent development.]

Hophni: Even the omniscient must rest their eyes.

[Polar exhales a short puff of breath. Bonnie looks to Jack, who shakes his head in wonder; they both look to Polar, who takes it upon himself to address an old friend.]

Phantasm: Eye-Seven... see what you can find on the name 'Timastenzi'. Go wide with it; I'm talking everything you can get, no matter how sketchy or insubstantial. Take your time with it... we'll check back with you once we're back at the new base.

[Jovial in tone as ever, Iceberg-Seven still somehow manages to come off as the artificial intelligence poster-child for passive aggressive.]

Iceberg-Seven: Greetings, user 'Polar Phantasm'; this unit has not seen user 'Polar Phantasm' in sixteen days, fourteen hours-

Phantasm: I know, I know- we're basing out of Chicago right now, Eye-Seven; you know I can't just pick you up and carry you around, right?

Iceberg-Seven: This unit was previously located at headquarters in Nevada, location designated 'New Antarctica'; relocation began on December 13, 2012 at 2:14-

Phantasm: Yeah, I remember- we had Nathan von Liebert, arson, the American taxpayers and blackmail to thank for that series of events...

[Bonnie turns to Jack, mumbling a comfort in case of epic Phantasm-caused confusion.]

Bonnie: It's a long story, but he'll totally tell you if you ask him. Or if he thinks about it, you're nearby and he feels like talking; I've gotten it both ways.

Hampshire: At least the bloke seems like he can spin a yarn.

Bonnie: Yeah, guess you could say that- he takes liberties here and there, but what good storyteller doesn't?

[Catching the last bit of their diatribe, Polar - still shaking off having to coax his computer through separation anxiety - now finds himself evaluating his tag partner's 'review' of his storytelling skills.]

Phantasm: A fair estimate, dear- though to be fair, most of my embellishment is for comedic effect. Or to make things more awesome. Come on, guys- Armand, Hophni, let's move... we've gotta get back to the Dragon and start sifting through the stuff Eye-Seven's sending us between his freakin' depressed digital sighs or whatever.

Bonnie: ...what about that story where you and Venable had a wrestling match in a casino on LSD*?
(* - Voted most likely to be the story I tell you about re: fun shit I've done in an e-fed by everyone who has ever talked to me about the topic, ever; Bonnie is, of course, referencing Breakout Kings of the Ring. Not sure if mention this often because proud of what we accomplished or mention this often to remind self there are pleasant memories related to WCF. Ah well; it was still so fun to do then and there that it's inevitable I'll try another iteration soonish and hereish with y'allish. -B.)

Phantasm: No embellishment required; at least, I think. Honestly I'm probably not the best one to tell that story... I was too busy living it to remember all of it exactly. The ass-clenching fear factor of wondering what Slickie T was gonna do to us for wrecking his casino, though- I remember that shit like it happened yesterday.

[Hampshire tries to figure out what Polar's doing on his wrist computer; he can only recognize the logo of the car service and a small map of their vicinity.]

Hampshire: I'd chip in for the lift, but I've only got a tenner on me... and they probably don't accept pound notes, regardless.

Bonnie: No sweat, Jack- we just put it on our expense account. Team's got resources; we don't really have to sweat th' day-to-day, you know? Helps a lot, bein' able to go where we gotta and do what we need...

Hampshire: Fuck off, yeah?

Phantasm: No, she's serious- between what we all had individually when we started the Guardians, what we've made since then off of everything from patents to recoveries and whatever we're earning at our 'day jobs'... as the man once said, "money ain't a thang." Oh, here we go-

[With that, a black SUV pulls up, a pink sticker in the window- Polar opens the back, gesturing for their guest to enter. Jack slides over; Polar and Armand hop in back, letting Jack and Bonnie have the middle... and sticking this poor driver with Hophni at shotgun. Polar and Armand have a brief and muted laugh at this development...]

Phantasm: 2271 South Wentworth Avenue, Little China. Going to a spot called the Drunken Dragon... just opened up a week or two back. You heard about it yet, man?


============================


[Scene: Little China, Chicago; more specifically, the Drunken Dragon. Here, in Alex Richards' new nightspot (and proper 'front' for Guardians Terran Headquarters, Chicagoland Edition), Guardians Blue and Phantasm play host to a few friends old and new; at the bar, we see Armand de la Fontaine chatting up a pretty young thing while glaring over her shoulder at an unaware Jack Hampshire. Jack, meanwhile, sits across from Hophni at a small cocktail table; to one side, Bonnie and Polar watch what appears to be the opposite of a staring contest. Both Jack of Shadows and Hophni of question-mark are either napping while seated upright, or perhaps in some sort of a trance... a few seconds later, Jack snaps his eyes open and slaps the table.]

Hampshire: Your mate's on his way to county jail as we speak. He's a little bruised and charged with a couple nasty felonies, but otherwise he's alright.

[Hophni opens his eyes, rubbing them slightly.]

Hophni: Your sight exceeds mine, friend- that is, on this day. One never knows what sight will reveal from time to time.

Hampshire: Very true, my good man.

[Jack turns to the Guardians, adding...]

Hampshire: ...this guy's alright. I think I like Chicago, all things considered...

Phantasm: You sure you're considering all things, Jack? It hasn't been altogether kind to us, you understand.

Hampshire: Well, London's not all wine and roses either.

Bonnie: Tell me about London, Jack...

Hampshire: Well, what do you want to know?

[Hophni heads to join Armand at the bar, unintentionally dooming himself to being a cockblocker; for a wise man, he's certainly not smart in the ways of 'being a bro'.]

Bonnie: I guess just start at the beginning and go from there.

[Cameron Bankston, though, has been a wingman a few times in his life... it has been a while, for sure; his last two partners were a) his future wife and b) his very engaged friend Jeff, and he doesn't have a lot of friends outside of 'the business' anymore, after all. But somewhere inside him, perhaps even on a subconscious level, the Phantasm knows when his 'bro' could use a solid.]

Hampshire: Really, luv? That's a lot of ground to cover; I could go for an hour on Cromwell alone.

[Seeing Polar readying to head out, they look over expectantly; he cautions them to ease up, waving off-handedly toward the door behind him.]

Phantasm: If we're gonna figure out a plan to get Alex out of custody, we're gonna need the team... plus they should hear all this stuff Eye-Seven dug up on Timastenzi. I'll shoot you a text when we're coming back through, ok? Maybe we'll even take a pass at casing the county jail; who knows. Jack, I hope to see you later for debrief, but no pressure; this isn't your fight, your team or even your country. But you're welcome, for sure; thanks for the help today.

Hampshire: It was a pleasure. Perhaps next time out you play visiting team, yeah?

Phantasm: Sounds alright to this Phantasm. Bonnie, take it light... but take it. See y'all.

[If he'd glanced behind him, he'd have seen an amused to chuckling pair of young people not accustomed to 'letting their hair down', so to speak... their jobs, responsibilities and (in some cases) predispositions don't always allow for... well, a personal life, one might say. Polar, though, doesn't feel a need to turn around; he already knows what he'd see, and he's quite pleased by it. After all, it's not every day a man stumbles upon another person who can see what he sees (and further, he assumes) in his best friend and tag team partner... or who can find her oft-elusive smile, an especially amazing feat on a day when discussion of the Dark freakin' Timekeeper was the big news of the evening (served with a side of Prime Minister Johnny Rabid and a large fountain Wave- it's an extra value clusterfuck). As he presses a button on his wrist computer, Polar glances around above him- a few seconds later, his super-snowmobile cruiser (the ARCTIC - Advanced Reconnaissance Combat Tactical Insertion Capsule, as it's known in tha club) descends permitting him entry. As he re-seals the cockpit, Polar laughs slightly at the thought that he may well have a tag team partner in the wrestling match against Bonnie's aloofness.]

Phantasm: So it's been a fucked up day- I think that's pretty obvious. What do you make of all this?

[There is no response; this is not unusual, as no one else is present and he has not opened a communications channel.]

Phantasm: No, I'm talking to you- I know you're out there, probably narrating this crap.

[The Phantasm may have finally cracked a bit; he appears to be addressing someone, but-]

Phantasm: Come on; put your trenchcoat on, come sit down and have a chat with your ol' friend Cam.

[...ah, fuck it. If it'll help wrap this shit up... but don't think this is gonna be standard procedure.]

Phantasm: Anytime now; I've got all day.

Comedian: Well, I don't- I've got work in a few hours and I'm already skipping sleep tonight to play with you. You're supposed to be on your way to West Town to find your wife and Preecha. And Andre Holmes.

Phantasm: What the hell are they doing in West Town? And- shit, Holmes- he's taking on the Yakuza, isn't he? Thank fuck he got some help; why didn't you tell me this shit, man?

Comedian: Because you had shit to do and I know you'd have shelved that shit to go play GI Joe with Scarlet, Snake Eyes and Roadblock. Because that's what I would do, given the option- naturally.

Phantasm: So...where in West Town?

[Polar eases the craft up into the Chicago skies... he quickly spots a fire in the general direction of West Town.]

Phantasm: Ah- nevermind. Crystal is nothing else if subtle, I'll tell you that.

Comedian: And predictable. Subtle and predictable.

[They have a bit of a laugh.]

Phantasm: Not sure if I ever told you this, but... thanks.

[Knowing already what he'd be receiving thanks for, the Comedian shrugs.]

Comedian: You deserve a weird fun life in a weird fun world, Cam- I just do the best I can to provide it. So what do you need from your friendly neighborhood creator today, old friend?

Phantasm: Answers- what else is new?

Comedian: Eh, thought as much. Listen, Cam- honestly, bottom of my heart, not a cop out- the last thing you want or need at this moment is more information.

Phantasm: Oh, thanks... like I'm sitting on all the answers here.

Comedian: You already know more than you can comprehend at the moment, and the answers you're seeking are beyond the ones you've been given... short story: you're not ready to know yet on a couple of levels.

Phantasm: What's the long story?

Comedian: Heh; that's the punchline, Cam. The long story? You're soaking in it. Watch out for that building-

[Polar adjusts trajectory in less than two seconds; as he looks back, he already knows his visitor will be gone.]

Phantasm: Yakuza... Sanchez... Timastenzi. All hell's a comin'...

[We watch as the ARCTIC zooms off toward the inferno marking the near side of West Town... we hear Polar sigh.]

Phantasm: ...and I forgot my fucking weed. Christ- even on my fairly good days, I just can't win...!



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


THE VERGE
Series conceived by Alex Richards, Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm
Series directed by the Polar Phantasm
Episode IV: Distance
Episode written by the Polar Phantasm
'The Guardians' created by Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm
(Come home soon, Spaceman.)

[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]