"Gleebazorpazopro gleeba Faggot, zorpzorp zorpa gleeb," the alien, with its beady black eyes and bulbous grey head, spoke to me as it strapped me to the surgery table, where it plans to vivisect me to discover the secrets of human biology.
"Ashcroft," I can just make out a faint, almost feminine voice speak through the air movement of the vents.
"Glorba zorbo gleeber G.I. Joe, gleepa zeepa zorb Go Cobra, zlemna goonta." The alien spoke again as it pulled out a buzzsaw
"Glorpo jarbo Marxist theory, geeba glorba zorp American Socialist party of America, zorba gloopa glrops," The alien says as it plugs in the buzz saw and turns it on
As the buzz saw begins to cut into my chest, everything gets blurry from the pain, before the scene I found myself in shifted. Where I first found myself strapped to a table in a high-tech medical room aboard a UFO, I am now running down a high-tech hallway with flashing red lights and a blaring alarm.
"Shit, fuck, god damn it," I mutter to myself as I sprint through the winding and seemingly unending halls of the Technocratic base. The constant and endless alarm blaring throughout the hall drowns out the sounds of the agents in pursuit, while the flashing red lights make it hard to make out where I'm going.
I end up coming across what looks like either a janitorial closet or a supply closet of some kind. Either way, it would be a perfect place to hide out while I figure out how the hell I'm supposed to get out of here.
I quickly slip towards the door, grab the handle, and twist. Luckily, it opens, and I quickly slip inside, locking it as I do so. I pause and decide that having a locked door isn't enough; I should probably also barricade.
I look around the cramped closet, not much in here, some mops, a small cabinet, and a wooden chair. Honestly, I'd expect the boys in black to have a more advanced janitor closet, but this is just…mundane.
I grab the chair and shove it under the knob before I push the cabinet in front of the door as well, hopefully creating a good barricade.
With that done, I slump to the ground panting, because holy fuck I could've died, or worse, gotten kidnapped and mind fucked by the lizard Nephandi that led the Technocracy.
All right now, how do I get out of here alive and myself? The vents are too small for me to crawl through, can't blast through the walls till I escape since I'm on the fucking moon, so I'd just die from whatever happens to people unshielded in space. I'd almost say I could just go invisible and wait for the portal, but knowing how paranoid the technocracy is, it would probably take days for the portal to be opened up again.
Fuck I'm gonna have to try to teleport out of here on my own, aren't I? God damnit, I'm so gonna get 'doxed.
All right, focus, Edric, you can do this. Sure, you're better at summoning storms to smite Nephadus cult leaders with lightning, or frying electronics with super EMP spells, but I'm sure trying to teleport out of a moon base will work out fine…yeah… definitely…
I fish a stick of chalk out of my pocket and start drawing a teleportation ritual array. I don't know shit about teleportation, so this might turn out to be less of a way to teleport me and more of a way to turn myself into energy, killing me and then turning me back into normal matter, ala Star Trek. Honestly, that might be more likely than me somehow cobbling together a teleportation array. But either way, it can't be worse than getting mind-wiped by the lizard men.
I then perform the ritual, placing my hands upon the edge of the circle, channeling my will to return to leave this base. The Magicks flew through me, into the array, through the outer circle, the first triangle, the inner circle, and into the second triangle, and then back to me, and with it…
PAIN
---
I shoot upright, eyes flying open as I gasp for breath, as bolts of pain shoot through my head. God, these dreams have been getting more and more real. I mean, I can almost feel the pain of being dissected while still alive and being retconned out of reality.
For the last couple of weeks, I've been having these dreams. Extremely vivid dreams of dying. The most common is the one where I'm a spell-slinging wizard fighting the deep state, and a gay WW2 Veteran working as a private detective. I have had other ones, though. In one of them, I was an old Chinese martial artist, and in another I was an advisor to Genghis Khan. Despite how different each situation is, there is always a commonality. I'm dying, usually young, and in an extremely painful manner.
Though honestly, despite the painful deaths, sometimes I feel like I'd rather be living in the dreams instead. I mean, almost all of life sounds better than being a depressed twenty-seven-year-old working a dead-end job to pay off student loans for a degree he's never used because his fiancée went insane and cheated on him with a clown-themed terrorist.
I take a deep, shuddering breath as I try to calm myself down from that dream. I roll off my bed and land my feet onto the floor of my trash bag crime alley apartment. I quickly make my way to my bathroom, dodging a pile of dirty clothing as I do so, and grab some aspirin to help with my migraine. I quickly swallow it down, along with a gulp of the toxin-fueled sludge the Gotham mayor likes to call water.
I take a look in the bathroom mirror, green eyes framed by long and disheveled brown hair, look back at me. The bags under my eyes are less pronounced today, though that might be due to my rectangular glasses partially obscuring them. A faint amount of facial hair covers my lower face, causing me to look a fair bit older than I really am. I should probably shave, but I don't have work today, so why even bother?
I leave the bathroom, grabbing yesterday's clothes off the floor and throwing them into my hamper. I turn the TV on to Gotham News Network, the only station I get here for some god-forsaken reason, as I change into my clothes. Jeans, a plain green t-shirt, and a necklace made of a simple chain looped through a simple engagement ring. Not the most extravagant ring, but it meant something that material wealth can't. I wonder what she's done with her ring?
The voice of GNN news reporter Vicki Vale fills my previously empty apartment. "Another breakout at Arkham Asylum occurred late last night, with several of its more infamous prisoners escaping. These escapees include the Joker, The Mad Hatter, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn." I turn off the TV once the last name is listed.
God fucking dammit, seriously? That clown bastard got out again? God, what am I even paying my taxes for? The biggest criminal in Gotham regularly escapes from the tax-funded insane asylum along with Harleen and a gaggle of insane superpowered criminals or super geniuses. God, it's like I'm in some kind of comic book that's too afraid to make permanent changes.
God, I need a smoke. I grab my lighter and pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and move for the door, dogging some dirty clothes I forgot to put away on my way there. The door creaks a bit as I open it and step out into the hall of my apartment building.
Man, this building sucks. I swear I can see the ghost of a dead hooker floating through here. But unfortunately, this is the best place I can afford while working at O'Shaughnessy's as a cashier.
The hallway is blessedly silent as I'm walking down it, sure, it stinks like an old meth lab, and it's always at exactly 85 degrees Fahrenheit, but hey, at least this building ain't ever loud.
Eventually, I make it to the stairs and start going up towards the roof of the building to smoke. By the time I'm at the top, two floors of stairs, I'm out of breath, maybe it's the smoking, but…I dont know, something about these stairs seems to take more out of me than anywhere else.
I'm finally out of the building and on top of the roof. The howl of the wind was almost deafening as I stepped out of the stairwell and onto the roof, the strangely cold June wind biting into my face.
I walk towards the edge of the roof, wishing I had brought a jacket as I do so, because it is cold as hell out right now. Which is kind of strange. Usually in Gotham, it's hot and humid during summer. But right now it's dry and cold.
Once I'm a couple of feet from the edge of the building, I pull out my lighter and a cig and light it, or well, I try to. The wind makes it a bitch to keep a light going, but eventually, after a couple of tries, it sticks, and my stick of cancer is lit.
I take a drag of the cigarette and enjoy the feeling of cancer-causing smoke filling my lungs. I hold the smoke in for a moment before I exhale. The toxic blue-grey smoke danced in the air for a moment, looking like a face, before it got blown away by the wind.
As I'm enjoying my cigarette, a faint, almost feminine voice seems to whisper in my ear, "Follow."
I whip my head up at hearing that voice, "Who said that?" I ask as I look around
"Car," The voice whispers again, "Go to your car."
Despite the logical parts of my brain that are telling me not to follow the creepy voice, every one of my deeper instincts is telling me that I should trust the voice, and well, I haven't gotten this far in my life by not trusting my guts.
I decide to do what the voice says, so I drop my cigarette and stamp it out before I head back inside the apartment building and make my way down the stairwell. I leave the apartment building on the ground floor and head for my car.
I unlock my car and get in. It's a cheap '90s sedan, kind of crappy, but it gets me where I need to be
"Alright, voice, where to?" I mutter to myself as I start the car.
"Crime Alley," The voice speaks, and with the voice comes the image of a specific alley, the one where Martha and Thomas Wayne got shot.
"Seriously? Why that place?" I mutter under my breath, hoping for an answer, but none comes. I sigh to myself as I start driving. At the very least, it's a short drive away.
The drive sucks; there's an unreasonable amount of traffic at seven thirty in the morning on a Saturday. Like, seriously, what do you guys have going on that necessitates the usage of a car? At least I'm doing the bidding of some voice that's either all in my head, a demon looking to possess me, or a vengeance-seeking ghost.
I finally get to the place the voice wants me to go, the true Crime Alley, not just the area of Park Row, but the place where the most well-known murder in Gotham happened. The murder that shattered the image of invincibility the Millionaires had cultivated, the place that truly ended the golden age of Gotham.
Fortunately for me, I managed to find a place to park my car that's near the alleyway and doesn't look like it'll get broken into. As I get out of the car, I'm hit by the cold winds, making me wish I had grabbed a jacket before I left the apartment.
I step into the dark alleyway with its graffiti-covered walls, and the trash cans along the sides of buildings, but most of the trash isn't even in the cans; it's just lying in the alley. It definitely fits the vibe of a place called Crime Alley, dark, dingy, and definitely not the kind of place you think a Wayne, or any rich person, would be anywhere near.
As I step into the Alley, a pounding headache overcomes me. This one's strong, even stronger than the migraines I had after twenty-four hours of straight studying back in college.
Then, as if the headache isn't enough, my vision is filled with these strange images that I can't really describe beyond saying they look vaguely like a comic book panel.
The next thing I know, I'm slouched over in my car with a pounding headache and a small amount of blood leaking out of my nose.
"What the fuck…?" I mutter to myself, the last thing I remember was entering the alley and then getting a headache and seeing stuff. Not walking to my car and getting in it.
"Slaughter Swamp," the mysterious voice on the wind spoke, still saying the bare minimum. Like last time, a series of images showing where it specifically wants me to go appears within my head. This time it's deep in the swamp. Too deep for me to drive all the way.
"This is gonna take all day, isn't it?" I mutter to myself as I start the car and start driving
----
Slaughter Swamp. The dark and humid swamp has served as the dumping ground for corpses for years. Corpses have been buried in this swamp since before Gotham was founded, and probably before Columbus sailed over, now that I think about it.
The worst thing about the swamp, other than the corpse water that leaches into our drinking water, is how I have to trudge my way through the swamp to get to where the voice wants me to go.
The swamp is eerily silent as I trudge through it, no croaking frogs or singing birds to break the silence. Now I'm not a big nature guy, but I'm pretty sure that's a sign that something dangerous is near. Or maybe the swamp is cursed, and all normal wildlife avoids it. Who knows
"How do I get to where I'm supposed to go?" I ask the voice as I step over an especially large tree root.
"Northward," The faint, almost windy, voice responds
"North…hate to break it to you, mysterious voice, but I don't know where the north is. It's not like I have a compass or anything," I respond as I steady myself against a tree
"The wind. Follow," the voice responds, prompting the wind to suddenly start blowing to my right. I guess that way is north, then.
I continue to trudge through the swamp, making sure I dodge any big tree roots or puddles of water as I do.
Eventually, I find where the wind is blowing. A small lake with an Island in the center. The island is a small one, only about the size of the bathroom at O'Shaughnessy's. The ground of the island looks to be covered in a thick layer of plant matter, roots wind through the ground, while grass, ferns, and other ground plants cover it. In the dead center of the island sits an old grave stone; even from here, I can see it's covered with moss and dust.
I take a look at the lake. It looks to be clean and around knee high at its deepest, which means I can cross it without swimming, but unless I want to deal with wet jeans, I'll need to take off my pants first.
I absolutely don't wanna deal with wet jeans, so I pull off my shoes and socks, unbuckle my belt, and pull my pants off, leaving me in just my boxers.
I let out a sigh as I pull my shoes off before I unbuckle and pull off my pants. With my socks and shoes in my hand and my belt and pants over my shoulder, I step into the cold, as hell water.
Fortunatly for my ability to keep my legs, the walk to the island is quick.
I quickly step onto the island, eager to feel warmth in my legs again. I can barely feel the grass beneath my feet due to how cold the water was. I think about putting my jeans back on, but I'm going to have to walk in the water again to get off the island, so what's the point in putting them back on?
I walk towards the old tombstone. It's covered in built-up moss and dust, obscuring the words engraved on its face. Honestly, the tombstone itself looks a lot like the kind found in cartoons, a rectangle with a rounded top and no extra decorations. Just a simple slab of stone
I let out a small sigh as I crouch down and clear away the dust and moss covering the engraved words.
"Here Lies:
Harleen Quinzel
1987-2012
A beloved daughter, friend, doctor, and fiancée."
I just stare at the words for a moment, "God fucking…is this what you wanted me to see? The grave of the woman I loved? Is this some sick way to tell me to get over her?" I ask the voice, anger clear in my voice, because what the hell? Did I really get dragged out here just so the voice can emphasize how the woman I loved is never coming back?
As I'm crouched down staring at the grave, I feel the cold wind begin to pick up, biting against my bare legs, reminding me how exposed I am
"Look," The voice speaks, though something about it is more real…less windy.
On the other side of the lake stands a veritable tornado of dust, dead leaves, fallen sticks, and other swamp detritus. In the center of the tornado is some sort of being. Constantly shifting and maintaining no consistent form, though there are commonalities. Each form is of a golden-orange serpentine entity, sometimes akin to an eastern dragon, another time a winged serpent like Quetzalcoatl, a normal snake staring at me with piercing gold eyes, or a twisted and winding ouroboros curled in on itself multiple times throughout the twister.
"W-what…" I stammer out, fear and confusion evident in my voice. I do my best to stand up, but end up failing and falling backwards.
"Are thee content to remain a bystander. Watching as thine city is caught in a viscous cycle of crime and chaos?" The thing speaks its longest sentence yet, "Or will thou take a stand. Use thine will to stand and prevent what hath happened to thee, thy love and thy best friend from happening anew?"
God damnit, first it brings up Harleen and now Barbara? Even when I haven't talked to her in years, it still calls her my best friend. What a joke. I didn't even send her an apology card after what happened because I was too absorbed in my own sorrow.
Honestly, it's got a point. How can I stand it? I didn't do shit while Harleen was in the Joker's grasp, I didn't do shit when the girl I've known basically all my life got permanently cripple. "Fuck that! I'm not gonna stand by watching that happen to me or anyone else ever again!" I shout at the entity as I climb to my feet, "If the god-damned Batman or Green Arrow can fight off an alien invasion, then I can fight a god-damned clown!"
"Good," It speaks in its ethereal voice, "Remember, Awaken."
As the thing utters those two words, I double over in pain. A searing headache shoots through my head, whipping out any thoughts. This headache is worse than anything I've experienced in my life. But with the pain comes realisations. The dreams I've been having weren't dreams.
They were memories of my past life.
And with that realization came the truly important memories.
The truth of the world and My True Name.
That of Edmund Ashcroft Bani Ex Miscellanea, The golden serpent, Libra of the Autumnal Equinox, scion of the cardinal winds, Quetzalcoatl reborn, lord of the roaring thunder, he who howls in the night sky, he whose bright lights shatter the darkness and whose shouts pierce the silence.
I stare my avatar dead in its glowing golden eyes, its form still shifting as the winds picked up in intensity, almost howling in its strength.
"Let's do this shit," I mutter under my breath.