The four foot soldiers kept complete radio silence, as they sneaked through the cobble-stoned streets. Though warned not to engage in any violence unless absolutely necessary, three of them were equipped with an assault-rifle, powerful enough to rip through the skin of all but the most powerful of supers. The fourth had a flame-thrower, just in case things got thoroughly out of hand.
They stopped in front of the window of what looked to be a cobbler. Team leader Alpha beckoned them to stop for a moment. They hit the floor. Crawling past the window, they missed the falcon eyes of the nocturnal cobbler. Once past the window, they reached the door to the printing press.
Breaking radio silence, the field leader whispered, “Delta, turn on your invisibility matrix. Charlie, take care of the window. Beta, stand prepared to engage any hostiles.”
Once again, the hush of night fell onto the four. If anyone had been looking at Delta, they would have noticed his disappearing act. Charlie’s hand turned into Kimberlite, a rock well-known for containing crystals. His hand consisting of the rock and each nail consisting of diamond, he put the nails against the printing press’s window, turned his hand, and caused a hole barely large enough for a human to fit through.
With a particularly deft bit of acrobatics, Delta leaped through the hole and landed in the printing press. He scanned the room and observed no hostiles. Making his way towards a newspaper, The Philadelphia Independent Gazetter, he observed it carefully. Staring at the date, he whispered into his communications console, “Theory confirmed. We are currently located in Philadelphia, 1787, circa the Philadelphia Convention and the formation of the U.S. Constitution.”
---
Harry sighed, as the bailiff took him to his cell. Without the sky, life seemed limited. And it was all because some damn suit had an inferiority complex. So maybe Harry shouldn’t have stolen from the bank. Maybe he shouldn’t have done a lot of things. But in retrospect, all that mattered was that he was here now. It could be worse: he could be dead. Then again, it could be better: he could be free. But for now he just had to make the best of his situation, plot some future crimes. And when the time came, as he knew it would, he’d break out of this joint.
The bailiff opened the cell door and Harry walked through. It was moments like these Harry wished he had more power. The really powerful ones--the ones with the nuclear blasts, the strength of a steamroller, or just high-level telepathy--got their own cells. Little old Harry, two-bit crook with an aptitude for flight? He got a cellmate. Make the best of it, Harry told himself. The best of it.
The bailiff closed the door and left, while for the first time Harry truly looked at his cellmate. The guy wasn’t anything special. He had muscles enough to lift a dumbbell, but not enough to lift a car. He had clean brown hair and was well-shaven. Harry couldn’t help but notice he was reading a book.
“So,” Harry began, “Whatcha reading?”
“A biography of Nixon.”
“Nixon, eh?” Harry said, amused, “You pro’lly don’t remember Nixon, young kid that you are, but I wasn’t all that young when he was in power. Scary times, I tell ya. So why ya interested in him?”
“I majored in American History in college.”
“Hmph,” Harry said, “American History major? You don’t see too many of those around here.”
“No, no you don’t.”
“Y’know when America took a turn for the worse? It was the Nixon assassination attempt. Oh, that was a doozy. Sure, that guy was messin’ things up, what, with Watergate and all. But it was when that so-called ‘Patriot,’ think they called him Patriot Star, actually. It was when that guy tried killing Nixon that everything went to Hell. I mean, people’d believed in him, y’know? He was a symbol. Then he went and tried to kill a President. How’d he think the people were gonna react?”
“That’s interesting. Well, at least he didn’t succeed.”
“Yeah, but the fact that he even attempted it was--” Harry found himself at a loss for words, so he started a new sentence, “I tell ya, it’s when people get overly-patriotic that this country starts havin’ problems. The people who fight for their vision of America, no matter what everyone else thinks, they’re the problems. Y’know what I mean?”
“Yes, after all of this reading, I think I’ve begun to understand that.”
“Son, my name’s Harry, or the Owl, depending on how much I like ya. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Nathan.”
“Nathan?”
“I’m better known as Patriot Star, you patronizing bastard. I’m at least a decade older than you are and I clearly don’t mind killing. Therefore, the less you speak, the better our experience will be together.” For three days, their cell was silent. Patriot Star read, while Harry cursed his luck and prayed for his life.
Eventually, the bailiff came and broke the silence, “Nathan,” he said, “You’re going to come with me.”
Nathan walked in silence with the bailiff, aloof to his surroundings. In the beginning, he’d been shocked by his inmates. He had seen the depravities super villains could sink to, and once, it horrified him. But that was almost forty years ago. With the Youth Serum still coursing his veins, and the life sentence still hanging over his head, Nathan would have a lot more time to get used to it. Somehow, that didn’t bother him anymore.
Occasionally, he’d wonder if he’d ever get out. When would the American people stop caring? Fifty years? Eighty? A century? But he tried not to wonder about it too much. It was the hope that killed him, the hope that was too much to bare. Therefore, his heart sank when he saw the door to Julia’s office. Hope was the last thing he needed.
As the bailiff sat him down, Nathan said, “Don’t waste your time, Julia. I know you can’t shorten my sentence, so why even bother?”
He was surprised to see her smile, “You’re right. You tried killing a President. I can’t shorten your sentence. I probably can’t even make your stay here any more comfortable. This mission will provide you with no benefits.”
“So can I go, now?”
“If you want to,” Julia said, “As you’re well aware, this is a free country.”
“I don’t like being toyed with.”
“Then give me the chance to speak,” she said, “I assure you you’ll be satisfied.”
“Alright, what’s your idea?”
“One of our Ultra Metahuman units accidentally opened up a wormhole that we believe leads to Philadelphia, circa 1787. You’re an American History major with combat experience. We want you to go in there and figure out if this wormhole actually does travel through time. You’ll get nothing in return.”
His response was immediate, “I’m in.”
They stopped in front of the window of what looked to be a cobbler. Team leader Alpha beckoned them to stop for a moment. They hit the floor. Crawling past the window, they missed the falcon eyes of the nocturnal cobbler. Once past the window, they reached the door to the printing press.
Breaking radio silence, the field leader whispered, “Delta, turn on your invisibility matrix. Charlie, take care of the window. Beta, stand prepared to engage any hostiles.”
Once again, the hush of night fell onto the four. If anyone had been looking at Delta, they would have noticed his disappearing act. Charlie’s hand turned into Kimberlite, a rock well-known for containing crystals. His hand consisting of the rock and each nail consisting of diamond, he put the nails against the printing press’s window, turned his hand, and caused a hole barely large enough for a human to fit through.
With a particularly deft bit of acrobatics, Delta leaped through the hole and landed in the printing press. He scanned the room and observed no hostiles. Making his way towards a newspaper, The Philadelphia Independent Gazetter, he observed it carefully. Staring at the date, he whispered into his communications console, “Theory confirmed. We are currently located in Philadelphia, 1787, circa the Philadelphia Convention and the formation of the U.S. Constitution.”
---
Harry sighed, as the bailiff took him to his cell. Without the sky, life seemed limited. And it was all because some damn suit had an inferiority complex. So maybe Harry shouldn’t have stolen from the bank. Maybe he shouldn’t have done a lot of things. But in retrospect, all that mattered was that he was here now. It could be worse: he could be dead. Then again, it could be better: he could be free. But for now he just had to make the best of his situation, plot some future crimes. And when the time came, as he knew it would, he’d break out of this joint.
The bailiff opened the cell door and Harry walked through. It was moments like these Harry wished he had more power. The really powerful ones--the ones with the nuclear blasts, the strength of a steamroller, or just high-level telepathy--got their own cells. Little old Harry, two-bit crook with an aptitude for flight? He got a cellmate. Make the best of it, Harry told himself. The best of it.
The bailiff closed the door and left, while for the first time Harry truly looked at his cellmate. The guy wasn’t anything special. He had muscles enough to lift a dumbbell, but not enough to lift a car. He had clean brown hair and was well-shaven. Harry couldn’t help but notice he was reading a book.
“So,” Harry began, “Whatcha reading?”
“A biography of Nixon.”
“Nixon, eh?” Harry said, amused, “You pro’lly don’t remember Nixon, young kid that you are, but I wasn’t all that young when he was in power. Scary times, I tell ya. So why ya interested in him?”
“I majored in American History in college.”
“Hmph,” Harry said, “American History major? You don’t see too many of those around here.”
“No, no you don’t.”
“Y’know when America took a turn for the worse? It was the Nixon assassination attempt. Oh, that was a doozy. Sure, that guy was messin’ things up, what, with Watergate and all. But it was when that so-called ‘Patriot,’ think they called him Patriot Star, actually. It was when that guy tried killing Nixon that everything went to Hell. I mean, people’d believed in him, y’know? He was a symbol. Then he went and tried to kill a President. How’d he think the people were gonna react?”
“That’s interesting. Well, at least he didn’t succeed.”
“Yeah, but the fact that he even attempted it was--” Harry found himself at a loss for words, so he started a new sentence, “I tell ya, it’s when people get overly-patriotic that this country starts havin’ problems. The people who fight for their vision of America, no matter what everyone else thinks, they’re the problems. Y’know what I mean?”
“Yes, after all of this reading, I think I’ve begun to understand that.”
“Son, my name’s Harry, or the Owl, depending on how much I like ya. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Nathan.”
“Nathan?”
“I’m better known as Patriot Star, you patronizing bastard. I’m at least a decade older than you are and I clearly don’t mind killing. Therefore, the less you speak, the better our experience will be together.” For three days, their cell was silent. Patriot Star read, while Harry cursed his luck and prayed for his life.
Eventually, the bailiff came and broke the silence, “Nathan,” he said, “You’re going to come with me.”
Nathan walked in silence with the bailiff, aloof to his surroundings. In the beginning, he’d been shocked by his inmates. He had seen the depravities super villains could sink to, and once, it horrified him. But that was almost forty years ago. With the Youth Serum still coursing his veins, and the life sentence still hanging over his head, Nathan would have a lot more time to get used to it. Somehow, that didn’t bother him anymore.
Occasionally, he’d wonder if he’d ever get out. When would the American people stop caring? Fifty years? Eighty? A century? But he tried not to wonder about it too much. It was the hope that killed him, the hope that was too much to bare. Therefore, his heart sank when he saw the door to Julia’s office. Hope was the last thing he needed.
As the bailiff sat him down, Nathan said, “Don’t waste your time, Julia. I know you can’t shorten my sentence, so why even bother?”
He was surprised to see her smile, “You’re right. You tried killing a President. I can’t shorten your sentence. I probably can’t even make your stay here any more comfortable. This mission will provide you with no benefits.”
“So can I go, now?”
“If you want to,” Julia said, “As you’re well aware, this is a free country.”
“I don’t like being toyed with.”
“Then give me the chance to speak,” she said, “I assure you you’ll be satisfied.”
“Alright, what’s your idea?”
“One of our Ultra Metahuman units accidentally opened up a wormhole that we believe leads to Philadelphia, circa 1787. You’re an American History major with combat experience. We want you to go in there and figure out if this wormhole actually does travel through time. You’ll get nothing in return.”
His response was immediate, “I’m in.”
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