RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Thunder City Gazette: "Whatever Happened to Metaman?"

There came a day when Metaman left. He had been the world's most beloved hero from the late 1930s until the early 1960s, but he needed to leave. When he first began his crusade against evil sometime in the early 1930s, he knew of no other metaheroes. But after his public debut in 1938, they suddenly began appearing everywhere. By the time he left the world in 1961, the planet had more than enough protectors. Metaman could finally rest from his labors, and he was free to explore outer space, other dimensions, even other times at his leisure.

This is how it happened.



"Whatcha writing there, Ben?" said Tim Ito, leaning over Ben Fowler's shoulder to read what had been written in Microsoft Word.

"God, Tim, you startled me," Ben replied, turning around. Tim was his best friend, but he had problems with personal space.

Tim said, "So what is it?" and took a sip of coffee.

"It's... just something I'm writing. It's nothing."

"What's... 'Metaman'?" Tim asked, squinting to read the screen again.

"Just a name, nothing more," said Ben. He hoped Tim would go back to his desk soon.

"Wait a minute," said Tim, a grin flashing over his face. "Are you writing fan fiction?"

"No! It's not fanfic."

"Then what is it?"

Ben sighed. Tim was going to get it out of him eventually. "It's just a story about the world's greatest metahero."

"Oh," Tim said. "I've never heard of him."

"Few have," Ben said, "but he was real."

"Was he one of those Vanguard guys?" Tim asked.

"No, he existed before them," Ben replied.

"Whatever happened to Vanguard, anyway?" Tim pondered briefly. "I haven't seen them in the news at all for a few years. Hmph. This Metaman wasn't in any of the Strikeforce teams, so was he a member of the MBL?"

"No."

"The New MBL?"

"No."

"The JLR?"

"No!"

"TOMB?"

"No..." said Ben hesitantly, "...and what's TOMB?"

"Based in Mandelovia a few years back, before the coup. Read about them on AlterNet.org," explained Tim, taking another sip of coffee before resuming. "Was he... hmm... I give up. I can't think of any other metahero teams."

"That's because most of them kept their existence a secret," said Ben. "The fact that the governments didn't want people talking about them either must've helped. No, Metaman pre-existed all those groups. He was one of the first metas."

"Ah, was he in the Royal Society of Rogues? Saw a documentary on the History Channel about them once."

"Well, no, they came before," Ben explained. "But they weren't really metaheroes, per se. There had been metahumans around, but until Metaman appeared, they weren't metaheroes. He was the original metahero, the one all others patterned themselves after. The word metahuman was based on his name, in fact."

"Uh, I don't think that's correct, Ben," said Tim, laughing somewhat condescendingly. "TriVex didn't discover the metagene until 1996. And they named it after the root word meta, which means change in Greek." He took another sip and added, "True story. Saw it on 60 Minutes last night."

Ben shook his head insistently. "No, that's only half the story. Yeah, it comes from that Greek word, but people with special powers were called metas long before 1996. Metas were around for years before the metagene itself was studied and isolated as the reason behind their abilities."

"If that's so, why haven't I heard of any of this?" asked Tim. "Why doesn't anyone else know about Metaman?"

Ben shrugged. "I don't know. I guess people just forgot."

"Everyone forgot except you?" Tim said, chuckling. "God, Ben, you're not developing paranoia, are you?"

"It's not that," said Ben. "I just... know some things. I'm not sure how or why. I just know, just like I know Metaman and Doc Quantum were best friends back in the 1940s and 1950s -- they were known as the Earth's Best Team."

"Doc Quantum? You're not talking about your hero, Dr. Henry Quantos, are you? The one who died a few years back?"

"No, Doc Quantum was his father," said Ben. "He was also named Dr. Henry Quantos, and his father was named Dr. Henry Quantos."

"Quite a lineage, if true," said Tim. "Forgive me if I doubt you, but I didn't think Dr. Quantos was a meta or a hero."

"He wasn't, not Dr. Henry Quantos III, anyway," said Ben. "Dr. Henry Quantos II was Doc Quantum, a Golden Age-era metahero who didn't have any powers but used his brilliant mind to fight crime. Dr. Henry Quantos the first was what you might call a 'mad scientist,' who was on the wrong side of the law."

"Well, I'll leave it up to you. You're the Quantos expert," Tim said, chuckling as he spotted three books written by the late Dr. Henry Quantos III on Ben's small desk bookshelf. "So tell me something else about this Metaman fellow. What made him so special?"

Ben brightened considerably. "Well, for starters, he was an Alpha Class metahuman."

Tim's eyebrows rose. "Really? I thought they were really rare."

"They are, but they do exist. Remember Ed Cicciotto, the Italian Olympic athlete? He was Alpha Class."

"No kidding," said Tim. "Hm. Go on."

"Anyway, because Metaman was Alpha Class, he wasn't limited to just one power. He was originally just super-strong and invulnerable, but throughout his career he just kept picking up new powers. By the time he left Earth, he was the most powerful metahuman on the planet. If he's still alive, and has gained further powers since he disappeared nearly fifty years ago, he might be one of the most powerful beings in the universe."

"Y'don't say." Tim chuckled. "Fanfic writer."

"It's not fanfic!" Ben insisted.

"Okay, okay, it's fanfic using an original character. Happy now?"

Ben was exasperated. "It's not--"

"We should get back to work," interrupted Tim. "The news doesn't stop just because we do."

Ben sighed and turned back to his computer as Tim went back to his desk. Already he had been assigned to copy edit a press release from a local charity. I'd rather be writing the news than just editing it all the time, thought Ben. The life of a newspaper copy editor could be quite boring at times.

There were very few news releases to edit that afternoon, so Ben Fowler clicked the Microsoft Word tab on the taskbar at the bottom of the screen, bringing it up. He casually looked around to see if anyone was watching him, but no one seemed interested in what he was doing. Tim Ito was on the phone with someone, probably some public relations person or other.

He reread the short paragraph that he'd written and thought for a moment before writing what came next. Whenever he tried to remember it, the events became ephemeral and slipped away, so he just had to let it come to him as he wrote. No concentration required. No self-editing, not until the story was done.

Ben began typing.



One day, at a U.S. government lab, two scientists in lab coats gape in wonder as a man wearing an odd, all-black, skintight uniform covering his entire body and head crashes through the wall.

"Great Scott!" says the first scientist. "That man is stealing our rare radioactive isotope."

The other scientist adds, "We need that isotope to complete our experiments! But who other than Metaman has the power to crash through reinforced titanium steel walls?"

Elsewhere, the world is baffled as similarly clad men with mighty powers steal experimental ballistic missiles, supplies of uranium, and many other treasures. The black-clad metahumans are seen in locations all around the globe, and no ordinary law enforcement agencies are able to stop them.

The President of the United States picks up a special phone. "Get me in touch with, err, uh... Metaman."

Bureaucrats and former metaheroes alike gather for a special meeting at the United Nations, where the U.N. Board of Metahumans, a non-governmental organization, is based.

Mister Sect, the current chairman of the Meta Board, convenes the meeting by saying, "Where is Metaman?"

Just then, three black-clad metahumans burst into the chamber, attacking all the ex-metaheroes sitting on the board. They leave them all injured but alive. Mister Sect, barely conscious, reaches an emergency button and pushes it. Before he lapses into unconsciousness, he breathes, "Metaman... we need you..."



"Are you joking?"

Ben jumps out of his seat as Tim spoke from behind him. "Stop doing that!" Ben said. "Do you always walk up behind someone and stand right there before saying a word? You startled me, man."

"Mm," Tim muttered. He was reading. "Mmm... Ben, Ben, this is... God... this is just plain awful."

Ben frowned. "What do you...?"

"This is so beneath you, Ben. I know you can write better than this. This is just trash, worse even than most fanfic. What were you thinking writing this?"

"It's just a first draft, Tim," Ben replied.

"Oh, God, I hope so," Tim laughed. "Because I haven't read anything this awful in a long time. It doesn't even qualify as stream of consciousness writing. Ben, what were you thinking?"

Ben looked up to see Tim chuckling at him. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Nah, it's a slow day. I'd rather pester you, buddy." Tim swung a mock punch and lightly cuffed Ben's chin. "So who's this 'Mister Sect' guy? And the 'Board of Metahumans'?"

"Just stuff I made up," Ben grumbled.

"Oh, so you're admitting it?" Tim said triumphantly. "Fanficcer."

"It's not fanfic! Why do you keep calling it that?"

"Hey, if the shoe fits... and... any other number of outdated cliches that apply."

"If you must know, Mister Sect was a Golden Age hero, too, one of the members of the Mysterymen Board Society, the MBS."

"Never heard of them."

"Of course you haven't. They were FDR's secret weapons during the war, in case the Nazis or the Japanese invaded."

Tim Ito chuckled. "I wonder if my grandfather met them sometime during the war. He was in the Imperial Japanese Army... but he was pretty much stationed in the Phillippines during of the war."

"Probably not. The MBS mostly operated within the continental United States. Anyway, Mister Sect and Metamen were both founding members of the MBS, along with Doc Quantum, Timmy Trust, and several others."

"Wait a minute," Tim said. "There was a metahero called 'Timmy Trust' during the war? What was his power -- causing people to trust him?" He laughed.

"No, Trust was an android."

"Robot?"

"No, an android. He had enhanced strength, some android abilities, and some largely undefined power over time. I don't know too much about him."

"It."

"Him," Ben corrected. "He was sentient, after all."

"Don't go throwing your Star Trek words at me, Trekkie fanficcer," Tim said condescendingly.

"Well, anyway, after the war Metaman helped set up a non-governmental board with the U.N. to monitor metahumans all around the world, pledging that they'd keep metas in check as long as the governments of the world don't outlaw them. Metaman agreed to be the first chairman of the Meta Board, but he had retired by 1958, when Mister Sect took over as chair."

"And what was Mister Sect's meta power -- the ability to cause religious dissention in the ranks?" Tim said, smirking.

"No, he was an outright vigilante at first who carried advanced weaponry from another world," said Ben. "I don't think he was an actual meta, but he could summon through a portal two female shapechangers as backup."

"I wish I had that power," Tim muttered. "Oh yeah, that would be sweet."

"What was that?" said Ben.

"Nothing. I'm, uh... I'll be in the washroom for a few minutes. I don't want to be disturbed."

"Whatever," Ben said, rolling his eyes.

At home in his apartment that evening, Ben Fowler opened up his Gmail account and downloaded the Word file he'd sent himself from work. He opened it up and read over it.

"This really does stink," he said to himself. He clicked Ctrl, Home and began to start editing the story from the beginning, but he stopped himself. He realized he couldn't change anything. Everything that was written was true, even though it was skimpy on the details. He knew that anything he did to flesh it out would make it less true than it was. He sighed audibly and sucked it up.

He hit Ctrl, End and took a moment staring at the cursor, his fingers hovering over the proper spots on the keyboard. Without giving it any thought, he continued the story.



Far down, between the center and the crust of the Earth in the rocky mantle, lay the Stronghold. It is within this fortress-like structure that Metaman is able to rest in complete solitude. He has his reasons for removing himself from the surface world, but he has not yet been able to bring himself to leave the planet.

Metaman is in the midst of deep sleep, when a slight buzzing sound reaches his ears. His enhanced hearing picks up sounds that the normal human ear cannot detect, and he picks himself out of rest. He does not need rest, his body does not need sleep at all, but he needs to sleep in order to dream. Without dreaming, the mind begins to hallucinate.

He hovers over to a large computer, an improvement on the Ultivac. Moments later, he pulls out a printout of tremors near the Earth's surface and scans it quickly.

"The signal!" he utters. "The surface world is in dire need of Metaman."

When he had left the surface world, he had given the Meta Board strict instructions not to be disturb him. But he had left them with one way to contact him, one way so drastic that they were only to use it in the hour of greatest need.

Metaman says, "Years ago, I planted four poles, made of an indestructible substance found on another world, into four selected locations around the Earth. At a specific signal, each of those poles would cause a minor earthquake, not enough to cause damage, but enough to register on my delicate scientific equipment at the Stronghold. I know that the signal has been sent, because it is a sheer improbability for four earthquakes of equal magnitudes to occur in four different places at the exact same time."

The hero flies over to a huge vault door. "I know now what I must do." At that, Metaman dons a protective suit of armor he had constructed out of the same indestructible substance that the poles were made of, and he begins to turn the wheel to open the door.

The entire Stronghold creaks under the pressure of the mantle surrounding it, but Metaman opens the door. He quickly dashes through it and then closes it again. He goes to the next door in the airlock and starts to open it slowly, knowing that he has only a split second of time in which to act. The moment he opens it, he closes the door behind him while using his telekinesis to keep the rock from crushing inward until the door is once again secure.

"Now -- to the surface world, in the only way possible!" Metaman says, turning himself and his protective suit of armor completely intangible moments later, and he rises up through the thick mantle toward the Earth's crust. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he reaches the surface world and sees the bright blue sky and the sun once more, after years of isolation.

"Fear not, world -- Metaman has returned," he says as he becomes solid and flies toward Thunder City.



Ben stopped typing. He frowned. "Why would Metaman be talking to himself like that?" he said. "It's like he knows someone's listening in who needs all the plot points filled out for him. Then again, I'm doing the same thing, so..." He stopped talking to himself.

He moved his cursor up a few paragraphs, thinking to change Metaman's expository speech from dialogue to third person narrative, but he stopped himself. Again, he felt unable to change anything. That's the way it happened. Maybe Metaman had a habit of talking to himself, he reasoned. A few years of complete isolation will do that to a man. Ben Fowler leaned back and sighed. It was time for bed.

The next day, Ben was much too busy at work to continue his Metaman story. On the SkyRail ride home from downtown Thunder City, he was thinking about what might happen next, and having no luck figuring it out, when the train stopped.

He, and everyone else, looked out the window to find out what was going on. A voice crackled over the intercom, saying, "Excuse me, folks. We seem to have a service disruption on the Athanon Line. We'll have service back up as soon as possible. Thank you."

Ben sighed. He was on the SkyRail's Athanon Line, but now he wished he'd taken the Odcut Line instead, or the bus. It would have been packed, but at least he would've stood a better chance of getting home soon. Because the monorail trains on SkyRail were automated, he couldn't even complain about his situation to a conductor.

He slumped back in his seat and stared out the window, idly watching the street below, lit by the setting sun. By pure chance, he caught a glimpse of two moving figures. One he recognized by the flames surrounding her moving as if she controlled them -- that was Burn. The other, moving very fast, was Snap.

Huh. Snap and Burn. Who says you never see metaheroes any more? he thought, smiling. After that, he didn't mind the wait.

On Saturday, Ben Fowler rested from the long work week at the Thunder City Gazette. In his small apartment on the outskirts of the city, he opened up the last saved version of his Metaman story. He sighed, not sure he wanted to continue it after a three-day pause.

His cellphone rang. "Hello?" Ben answered.

"Benny boy!" said Tim Ito. "Whazzup?"

"Nothing," Ben replied. "I'm just relaxing."

"You're on your computer, aren't you? On a Saturday. Damn, boy -- you need to get out more."

"No I'm not," Ben lied. "I'm... just chillin', having a beer, watching the game."

"Oh yeah? Those Bruins are quite a team, huh? They're kicking the Red Sox's asses!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Ben. "Pretty exciting."

"GOTCHA!"

"What?"

"You're not watching any game, Ben. I know you. You don't know anything about sports."

"I do so," said Ben, bringing up a window and typing as quietly as possible.

"Nuh-uh. You're looking up the Bruins and the Red Sox on Wikipedia right now, aren't you?"

Ben muttered something foul under his breath.

"Let me clue you in, brother. Bruins is hockey. Red Sox is baseball. They're both from Boston." Tim paused for a moment to let it sink in. "What are you really up to, Ben?"

"I'm... I'm just doing a bit of writing."

"Really?" Tim said, sounding interested. "You have a lead on a story? Something that'll help you break out of copy-editing and into actual journalism? Hmm? Or are you writing more of that Megaman crap?"

"Metaman."

"My Lord, you are!" Tim laughed long and hard. "I was just joking about that." He continued laughing.

"Are you done?" Ben said. "I prefer to be degraded during weekdays, not my days off."

"Ha ha, I'm sorry, buddy. Really. Anyway, if you're done that Metaman thing by tonight, let me invite you out to a party. I'm bringing a hot chick I met, and she's bringing a friend."

"Uh... I don't know, Tim. The last time I was wingman, the 'friend' turned out to be a tranny, and a pre-surgery tranny, at that."

Tim began laughing again. "It was just that one time, I swear. I had no idea the friend was a guy. That won't happen again, I swear."

"Well, maybe."

"All right! I'll pick you up at eight."

"But..." Tim had already hung up. "I guess I'm going to a party tonight," Ben said aloud. "I really have to stop talking to myself like this. I'm starting to sound like a comic-book."

Metaman lands outside the Thunder City Gazette Building, where a crowd soon gathers around him. The people of Thunder City have not seen their hero for three years now, since he went into seclusion. Even in his bulky protective suit, Metaman is recognizable.

As several people are asking for his autograph, Scoop Randall and Lizzy Parker walk up to Metaman. The two reporters smile as they greet the hero, and the crowd backs away slightly to give them a small amount of privacy.

"Scoop! My best pal," Metaman says. "And Lizzy, my best girl."

"Where have you been, pal?" asks Scoop, a blond-haired young man. "It's been years!"

"I know," says Metaman. "I had my reasons for leaving." He turns to his former girlfriend, a red-haired beauty. "And you, Lizzy? How have you been doing?"

"Thanks for asking, Metaman," says Lizzy, "but we're in the middle of a crisis, here. A group of meta-powered men are stealing the world's technology. I assume that's why you've returned."

Metaman scans the horizon with his meta-vision. "Yes, I was summoned by the Meta Board, but I didn't know the reason until now."

"Are you able to fight them?" asks Lizzy, looking concerned. "Can you... fight them safely?"

"I'll be all right," says Metaman assuringly. "This protective suit that Doc Quantum made for me will protect me... and them."



Ben Fowler read the words he'd just typed. Scoop Randall? he thinks. Is he related to Buzz Randall?

He felt a bit unnerved that he had no idea where the story was taking him, and he decided to leave it alone for the day.

Ben was very, very drunk. He'd gone to the party with Tim and two girls named Emma and Launie, and it was an experience.

Tim and Emma were all over each other all night, while Ben hardly had anything to say to Launie... at least at first. Launie seemed cold, almost frigid, but she was very intelligent and seemed to have a sharp sense of humor. She seemed just his type, so Ben found it difficult to make much headway with her. That is, until Launie began drinking.

After a few drinks, Launie loosened up immensely, pulling Ben onto the dance floor and making out with him right there. He may even have gone home with her after she propositioned him, if it wasn't for the fact that she three up three times in a row, the first time on his shoes. He ordered a cab and took Launie home, then went home alone. She left him his number, of course, but it was anybody's guess if she was into him at all when she wasn't drunk.

Now Ben, his head swimming, thought it would be the perfect time to continue his Metaman story.



Metaman flys real fast, all the way up to the sky. He uses his metavision and spots the black-clad metahumans somewhere else.

"You fuckin' bastards," he mutters, diving straight through the air at them from a hundred miles away, catching up to them in a jiff.

"Who wants a fight with Metaman?" he yells, surrounded by three of 'em.

The three laugh, one taking potshots at him while another distracts him. One of 'em says, "Were ya been, Metajerk?"

"I'm... I dunno. This story's shit. It's crap. Shitty crap, worse'n a Nowhereman story. I can't write this right now I suck."



Ben slid down to the floor next to his computer desk and fell fast asleep after meditating briefly on the word metafiction.

On Monday morning, Ben was busy copy editing and rewriting news releases as usual, when his telephone rang.

"Hi, Paul," he answered.

"Hi, Ben. How are you?" said Paul O'Hara, the editor-in-chief of the Thunder City Gazette. Without waiting for a response, he said, "Ben, I'd like you to write a story."

"Oh?"

"A story on Thunder City's metas. We've seen several of them come and go in this city, the most famous ones being, of course, the MBL. I want you to write a story profiling one of these metas, a kind of 'where are they now?' type of story, but something with a bit of an edge to it, so find whatever dirt you can. We've generally championed metas at the paper over the years, but controversy always makes for a better story. Call the meta registry center at City Hall and find out how you can contact one. In your story, make sure to try and find reasons metas have been less active on the world scene in recent years. If it works out for you, this could turn into a series. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, it does, Paul. Thank you."

"If you have any problems, talk to Jack," Paul said, referring to Jack Stetson, the paper's star reporter who now acted as the editor in Paul's absence.

"All right," said Ben.

"Okay, talk to you later."

"Bye," said Ben, hanging up. He stared at the phone for a few minutes longer. "Wow."

Four days later, at the Thunder City Gazette, Ben Fowler was finally able to take a breather after a busy work week. He had kept himself busy copy-editing for most of the week, as well as trying to reach City Hall's metahuman registry. It wasn't easy. Bureaucracy rarely wants to talk to journalists, even one starting out. Each time he called, he got the same kind of cold shoulder a telemarketer may get on a routine basis. Ben realized he was going to have to develop more of a thick skin if he was going to get anywhere in this business.

Finally, Ben's persistent nagging a few times every day paid off. The secretary arranged a meeting for him with one of Thunder City's retired metaheroes, a fellow called the Write Guy. Apparently, as she told him, he had been a big name in the late 1990s, but he had fallen into obscurity since then. She wasn't sure if the Write Guy even had any meta-abilities any longer.

Ben went to a local coffee shop a block from the Gazette Building and waited for nearly forty minutes that morning before a disheveled-looking man wearing thick, horn-rimmed glasses walked in and scanned the room before settling his eyes on Ben. He walked over to him.

"Are you Ben Fowler?" the man said.

"Write Guy?" Ben said, standing and extending his hand.

"Oh, I never shake hands," Write Guy said. "Too many germs. Anyway, I need a coffee."

Ben thought the man looked jittery, like he'd already had several cups of coffee, but said, "Sure thing. Coffee's on me... or at least on the company." He grinned as he pulled out the company credit card.

A few moments later, the two were seated across from each other on big leather chairs, with a small table between them.

"The thing you have to understand," the Write Guy said after a few moments of small talk, "is that they took away my metapower. I used to be a star. Back in the '90s I could write myself into anything, any big story. I'd been a nobody until I got my Cosmic Keyboard. But they took it away from me, and all I'm left with now is writer's block."

He took a large gulp of coffee. "They did it to all of us, all the reality changers. Name anyone today who has the ability to unilaterally alter reality as we know it. You can't -- our kind doesn't exist any longer. But back in the late '90s, there were plenty of us: me, Albino Chameleon, Rai, Gooz, Doug Silver, the entire membership of the Seven Senses, in fact... we were the bastard sons of the Moderator, all of us.

"Yeah, the Moderator... he was an okay guy for a cosmic being, standing right on the balance between order and chaos, and the light and the dark, where creativity thrives. He kept the world from falling into chaos countless times over the years. And he was sympathetic to us metas, too. It was his influence that kept on the right side of the law and government for so many years. Then the Antimoderator came around, the self-styled 'Lord of Chaos,' as he sometimes called himself. We didn't know who he was back then, but he'd been a mortal chosen by the other side to be the Moderator's opposite number. He arranged for the Moderator to be killed using a sleeper agent. The only thing is, the Moderator knew that he was going to die, and he had a plan.

"When he was slain, his last act on dying was to transfer a bit of his power into several of us. Yeah, all the reality-changers were created by the Moderator. We were all connected that way, even though some of us ended up on opposite sides. The power to alter reality has an inherently corrupting influence, you see. It can cause madness and a thirst for power. Once he found out about us, the Antimod began tempting a few of us over to his side. And he succeeded with several.

"Then the time wars began. Nobody seems to remember them all that well, but the timeline was changing all the time. Most of it was the Antimod trying to disrupt things. I'm sure he had a few reasons for doing so, but part of his motivation for instigating the time wars was to rout out all the last reality-changers who still had their powers. Y'see, us reality-changers were trying to set things straight again whenever the timeline changed, and the Antimod could detect us only when we were using our Moderator-given powers. Once he caught us, he took away those powers.

"I went underground around that time, as did a few other reality-changers. All I had left was my Cosmic Keyboard, which funneled my powers so that virtually whatever I wrote would happen. I thought that, if I didn't use my powers at all, the Antimod would never find me. I was wrong. I was so wrong. All I managed to do was end up being the last holdout.

"Once he caught me, he had everything he wanted. The universe changed, altered. Where metahumans were once free and only lightly regulated, now the whole world feared us and thought of us as terrorists. Y'know, it never really occurred to me at the time, since I was so preoccupied with the time wars, but the day that the Antimod caught me was kind of ironic. It was September 11, 2001. That was the day that the time wars ended, with the Antimod the victor. And it seemed over for the metas. I'm glad I was wrong about that, at least. The Antimod proved to be a lot less interested in destruction than he was in keeping order. Yeah, the former 'Lord of Chaos' was more interested in order, now that he was in charge. I suppose that's the way things always go. Liberals become conservatives once they get a little power, once they realize that order is the only way to hold on to that power.

"The Antimod didn't hurt me, anyway, didn't even think I was any threat once he took my metapowers and Cosmic Keyboard away. He just left me be. I was now just another ordinary human being, but not even a pale shadow of my former self. I couldn't write any more. All that time I'd sworn off using my Cosmic Keyboard had an effect on me. I'd developed a pathological fear of writing, since I'd feared for so long that writing would lead to my getting captured or worse. Now that I was a free man, and no threat to anyone, you'd think that I would've gotten over it. But I didn't. I was a nobody." The metahero formerly known as the Write Guy looked down at his now-empty coffee cup.

"Hey, you mind if I get another coffee?"

"No, not at all," said Ben, astonished by the man's story and still frantically taking notes. He bought him another coffee. While the Write Guy was taking a gulp from his cup, Ben decided to ask him a question, just in case:

"Hey, have you ever heard of Metaman?"

The Write Guy stared at him, a frown forming on his face as if he was trying to read the reporter. "I have to go," he said, standing suddenly and almost spilling his coffee.

"What?" asked Ben. "But why?"

"Look," said the Write Guy, "I don't know who you are, or what you're playing at, but I don't want any part of it. The time wars are long behind me. Leave me out of your little games."

"I don't understand," said Ben. "Why won't you talk about Metaman? Whatever happened to Metaman?"

The Write Guy just turned and left the coffee shop.

Thunder City Gazette offices, 11 p.m.:

Ben Fowler sat at his desk in the lonely, nearly empty office. Only a skeleton crew operated the newspaper at night, and none of the others were particularly friendly. Fowler had been working the night shift for a month now, and he was completely drained of energy. He felt his career was stalling before it had begun.

It was in late October, after submitting his interview with the Write Guy, that Fowler was sent to the night shift. Fowler had managed to do some digging and found a few more discrepancies in the official history, thanks to the Write Guy's tips. But Paul O'Hara, the Gazette editor-in-chief, was apparently enraged when he saw Fowler's story. O'Hara didn't speak with Fowler directly, but reporter-turned-acting manager Jack Stetson had relayed the information. Fowler thought Stetson took a bit too much pleasure in that.

O'Hara completely rewrote the Write Guy interview, discrediting everything the former metahero had said and making him look like a lunatic. He also editorialized the interview, making suggestions that the city should cut him off from any possible metahero compensation, since he was obviously a fraud. The fact that O'Hara had rewritten the story with such a slant was not the worst part. The worst part was that he had left Fowler's name on it.

The edited story was printed on November 1st, and now, on December 5th, Ben Fowler received a letter from the Write Guy. He dreaded opening it, knowing that the metahero thought Fowler had betrayed him, but he needed to know what it said. Opening it, he read the following:

Fowler,

We thought we could trust you, alone, in the media. Finally, we had someone who was willing to listen to us and tell our story. But all you wanted was to exploit us for your paper.

I've put the word out. The next time you want to talk to one of us, you're out of luck.

Goodbye,
The Write Guy

"Shit," Fowler muttered under his breath. He was about to throw the carefully handwritten letter away, when on impulse he flipped it over. Jotted on the back was a messy note that said:

The world you know is not the way it always was. The world's been destroyed several times and brought back to what we see as "normality." Ever wonder why there haven't been major catastrophes associated with metas? There actually have been. Many of them, in fact. Reality's been changed back with a reset button again and again. You know this is true in your heart. Look into it with an open mind. Dr. Dusk knows all -- he's been around since the beginning.--WG

Fowler read and re-read the note. Something about this rang true. He had long had dreams about such things as alien invasions, demonic hordes ravaging the earth, even metahuman terrorists committing mass murder and taking over a major U.S. city. But they had all just been dreams, hadn't they? Despite the craziness surrounding metahumans, the real world was relatively normal. Almost untouched... as if... as if someone had reset the world after each disaster, after each event that took history veering off the same course it had always been on.

Ben Fowler had nothing to go on other than his hunch that the Write Guy was telling the truth. The former metahero seemed unglued to reality, but was he actually just unglued to reality as it was now?

And this note about Doctor Dusk troubled Fowler. He recognized the name as that of a crimefighter who had recently surfaced in San Diego, California. He had read about Dusk during his research into metaheroes, but Dusk had only been operating for a few months now since around August, 2008; how could he have been around since the beginning?

Even though the Gazette was keeping him on copy-editing duty, Fowler still had a lot of free time to continue his research.

Thunder City Gazette offices, 11 p.m.:

Ben Fowler sat at his desk in the lonely, nearly empty office. Only a skeleton crew operated the newspaper at night, and none of the others were particularly friendly. Fowler had been working the night shift for a month now, and he was completely drained of energy. He felt his career was stalling before it had begun.

It was in late October, after submitting his interview with the Write Guy, that Fowler was sent to the night shift. Fowler had managed to do some digging and found a few more discrepancies in the official history, thanks to the Write Guy's tips. But Paul O'Hara, the Gazette editor-in-chief, was apparently enraged when he saw Fowler's story. O'Hara didn't speak with Fowler directly, but reporter-turned-acting manager Jack Stetson had relayed the information. Fowler thought Stetson took a bit too much pleasure in that.

O'Hara completely rewrote the Write Guy interview, discrediting everything the former metahero had said and making him look like a lunatic. He also editorialized the interview, making suggestions that the city should cut him off from any possible metahero compensation, since he was obviously a fraud. The fact that O'Hara had rewritten the story with such a slant was not the worst part. The worst part was that he had left Fowler's name on it.

The edited story was printed on November 1st, and now, on December 5th, Ben Fowler received a letter from the Write Guy. He dreaded opening it, knowing that the metahero thought Fowler had betrayed him, but he needed to know what it said. Opening it, he read the following:

Fowler,

We thought we could trust you, alone, in the media. Finally, we had someone who was willing to listen to us and tell our story. But all you wanted was to exploit us for your paper.

I've put the word out. The next time you want to talk to one of us, you're out of luck.

Goodbye,
The Write Guy

"Shit," Fowler muttered under his breath. He was about to throw the carefully handwritten letter away, when on impulse he flipped it over. Jotted on the back was a messy note that said:

The world you know is not the way it always was. The world's been destroyed several times and brought back to what we see as "normality." Ever wonder why there haven't been major catastrophes associated with metas? There actually have been. Many of them, in fact. Reality's been changed back with a reset button again and again. You know this is true in your heart. Look into it with an open mind. Dr. Dusk knows all -- he's been around since the beginning.--WG

Fowler read and re-read the note. Something about this rang true. He had long had dreams about such things as alien invasions, demonic hordes ravaging the earth, even metahuman terrorists committing mass murder and taking over a major U.S. city. But they had all just been dreams, hadn't they? Despite the craziness surrounding metahumans, the real world was relatively normal. Almost untouched... as if... as if someone had reset the world after each disaster, after each event that took history veering off the same course it had always been on.

Ben Fowler had nothing to go on other than his hunch that the Write Guy was telling the truth. The former metahero seemed unglued to reality, but was he actually just unglued to reality as it was now?

And this note about Doctor Dusk troubled Fowler. He recognized the name as that of a crimefighter who had recently surfaced in San Diego, California. He had read about Dusk during his research into metaheroes, but Dusk had only been operating for a few months now since around August, 2008; how could he have been around since the beginning?

Even though the Gazette was keeping him on copy-editing duty, Fowler still had a lot of free time to continue his research.

Thunder City Gazette offices, 11 p.m.:

Ben Fowler sat at his desk in the lonely, nearly empty office. Only a skeleton crew operated the newspaper at night, and none of the others were particularly friendly. Fowler had been working the night shift for a month now, and he was completely drained of energy. He felt his career was stalling before it had begun.

It was in late October, after submitting his interview with the Write Guy, that Fowler was sent to the night shift. Fowler had managed to do some digging and found a few more discrepancies in the official history, thanks to the Write Guy's tips. But Paul O'Hara, the Gazette editor-in-chief, was apparently enraged when he saw Fowler's story. O'Hara didn't speak with Fowler directly, but reporter-turned-acting manager Jack Stetson had relayed the information. Fowler thought Stetson took a bit too much pleasure in that.

O'Hara completely rewrote the Write Guy interview, discrediting everything the former metahero had said and making him look like a lunatic. He also editorialized the interview, making suggestions that the city should cut him off from any possible metahero compensation, since he was obviously a fraud. The fact that O'Hara had rewritten the story with such a slant was not the worst part. The worst part was that he had left Fowler's name on it.

The edited story was printed on November 1st, and now, on December 5th, Ben Fowler received a letter from the Write Guy. He dreaded opening it, knowing that the metahero thought Fowler had betrayed him, but he needed to know what it said. Opening it, he read the following:

Fowler,

We thought we could trust you, alone, in the media. Finally, we had someone who was willing to listen to us and tell our story. But all you wanted was to exploit us for your paper.

I've put the word out. The next time you want to talk to one of us, you're out of luck.

Goodbye,
The Write Guy

"Shit," Fowler muttered under his breath. He was about to throw the carefully handwritten letter away, when on impulse he flipped it over. Jotted on the back was a messy note that said:

The world you know is not the way it always was. The world's been destroyed several times and brought back to what we see as "normality." Ever wonder why there haven't been major catastrophes associated with metas? There actually have been. Many of them, in fact. Reality's been changed back with a reset button again and again. You know this is true in your heart. Look into it with an open mind. Dr. Dusk knows all -- he's been around since the beginning.--WG

Fowler read and re-read the note. Something about this rang true. He had long had dreams about such things as alien invasions, demonic hordes ravaging the earth, even metahuman terrorists committing mass murder and taking over a major U.S. city. But they had all just been dreams, hadn't they? Despite the craziness surrounding metahumans, the real world was relatively normal. Almost untouched... as if... as if someone had reset the world after each disaster, after each event that took history veering off the same course it had always been on.

Ben Fowler had nothing to go on other than his hunch that the Write Guy was telling the truth. The former metahero seemed unglued to reality, but was he actually just unglued to reality as it was now?

And this note about Doctor Dusk troubled Fowler. He recognized the name as that of a crimefighter who had recently surfaced in San Diego, California. He had read about Dusk during his research into metaheroes, but Dusk had only been operating for a few months now since around August, 2008; how could he have been around since the beginning?

Even though the Gazette was keeping him on copy-editing duty, Fowler still had a lot of free time to continue his research.