The Beacon.
A twelve-story, white-washed, granite-mixed marble lighthouse, spinning through the temporal void at six-years-a-second.
Home.
***Dear Mom,
Billy here again. No idea what the exact date is. But, I'm heading into Week Two of this fantastic new job.
Sorry. 'Lifestyle'.
Joining MAN is the greatest choice I could have made for my life. The things I've seen. The places I've been to already. I can't even begin to explain it. You wouldn't believe me, anyway. And, hey, you shouldn't. No one could ever wrap their head around what we do. Not without doing it themselves. But, I wish you could see it. Traveling in time. TIME, mom! Battling strange creatures and crazy villians. It all sounds so....childish. Yeah, that's it. Childish. I'm a thirty-year-old man getting PAID to live a ridiculously childish life. A life of fantasy and fiction and high-adventure. Nothing compares.
Maybe it would help if I told you about some of the people I'm working with. They're a close group. Not really 'family', I guess. Well, not in the literal sense. More of a tightly-woven team. Professionals....if there is such a thing in this lifestyle....that all follow a singular purpose.
To save. Not just the world. Not just the universe. But, everything. To save everything.
Let's see.....where to start...ah!
Tom.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Tom-Prime sighed, cupping his forehead in exasperation.
Thomas Franta. 'Multi-Tom'. Fifth-generation grandson of the actual inventor of temporal travel tech. He's, like, a genius. No, I mean, really. The kind of thinker that just trying to comprehend some of his ideas makes your nose bleed...
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" Tom-7 (the one with the goatee, Billy had noted) insisted. "Minimal casualties. Estimated odds of succes--"
TOM-14: "One-thousand-seventeen--"
TOM-4: "--to twelve-against."
"Inflitration, and deception!" Tom-Prime countered. "Twelve-to-one!"
Came up with the idea of a cross-continuum think-tank........made up of just himself. Well, himself from various timelines.
"The Hypno-Whore is with him!" Tom-7 banged his hand on the table with insistence. "She will see RIGHT through it! If we want to take PsychoSyndicate, we
have to go in full-force, frontal attack--"
TOM-14: "Is Bremalian part of their frontline?"
TOM-4: "Until May 13, 2742, when he's killed by The Mary..."
TOM-14: "Then we hit them on May 14th..."
Thing is, his intelligence is so consistent with the universe, that a few hundred of his alternate reality counterparts came up with the exact same idea, at the exact same time. So, finding it easy to breech the barriers that divide the seconds, they've all joined forces. He basically created a team of himself.
"Listen!" Tom-Prime jutted a finger at number four. "We've talked about that. Don't go blabbing about agent's future events--"
TOM-4: "She's not here. She can't hear me!"
"We don't know that...remember, seraphim-hearing." Prime shook his head. "...voices carry."
"...ungh!...ungh!......ungh!....yeeeaahh....oh! Yeah, that's it! THAT'S IT!" The Mary grunted and moaned, pulling at the sheets with clenched fists. "Ungh!! Fuck YEAH!!"
The Mary is the Anti-Virgin.
They found her in last decade of the calendar we understand. Chained and imprisoned by the Habit of End, in the Last Convent.
Nails gripped her waist a bit tighter, increasing the impact of his sweaty thrusts, ramming into her from behind. She moaned and grunted harder, her long blonde hair flailing back and forth with a impassioned rhythym.
The first and only mortal born with seraphimific gene codes. Seems she's the one all the Christians have been worried about for the last few million years. The beast-bearer. The end-bringer. The Anti-Virgin.
"FUUUUCCKKK MEEEEEE!!!" The Mary screamed as her body convulsed, legs muscles locking tight with a massive orgasm.
Oh yeah....and if she doesn't have sex at least once a week, she'll automatically give birth to the armageddon-child.
I know. I'm embarrassed I had to tell you that, mom. But, I wanted to be honest with you about these people. Even the special, cosmic 'super-heroes' have curses and blessings that is of an adult-nature. That's just reality. No comic books, here.
"YES! YES! YES! GIVE IT TO ME!!" The Mary bellowed, now riding and grinding Nails from on top, gyrating like a piston. "FUCK THAT PUSSY!! FUCK IT!! THAT'S YOUR PUSSY!! THAT'S YOOOOUUURRRR PUSSY!!!!"
Ahem. Yeah. Let's move on...
