Hello all mad Retcon Hour dealers...
Given that the LOH is turning up at the RACCelestial Madonna Pageant,
I thought it might be an idea to write a story detailing how they got
from the end of RETCON HAPPY HOUR to that locale. So, this is LEGION
OF OCCULT HEROES #0, a series which will, once Retcon Hour is done and
the dubious NTBers are returned to their own storylines, continue
onwards into areas of insanity untraversed by even the stoutest of LSD
experimenters...
THE LEGION OF OCCULT HEROES #0
-
RETCON HOUR #24
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There was an explosion. Only a little one, though. A few
windows were rattled in the Net.ropolis street that it occurred in,
and when it was done, there was, at it`s centre, not the scene of
generally empty desolation that you might expect, but instead a group
of spandex clad net.heroes consisting of two men and a woman, who
looked somewhat the worse for wear, as though they had just fought
their way through the occasional horde of vile creatures immediately
prior to appearing by explosion. They were wary, and ready to fight
once more. The familiar surroundings had a mollifying effect, however.
"We`re back? We`re actually back, this time?" asked the young,
longhaired man in the skintight costume with the leering devil on the
front.
"It appears so. The essence of this place is that of
Net.ropolis," replied the older man in the green trenchcoat and
perfectly green costume beneath.
"Either that or you recognised the skyline," commented the
young woman, who wore a costume composed seemingly of scales. Reptile
scales. "Sometimes I wonder about your powers."
"That you may do. But do I question yours?"
"No. But I wish somebody would."
"Look," Said the young man, "leave it out for a moment, will
you? We`d better get back to the LNH HQ before GrimLad blows his top."
"It is as you say. Would you be kind enough to provide
transport?" asked the older man in the trenchcoat.
"And not the bloody bat, this time!"
"Fair enough. I think I`ve found a better one." The young
man`s eyes glowed momentarily as he spoke a single word: "TONARETSO!"
And with that, there appeared in the road a gigantic, orange cat,
which was curious in that it had four pairs of legs, and windows upon
it`s side, which looked in upon a buslike passenger compartment.
"Typical," muttered the woman, who recognised the
creature. The sign above it`s head changed from something
indecipherable written in one of the infernal languages of Dis, to
"LEGION OF NET.HEROES HQ via City". The cat turned it`s head to grin
broadly at them. An opening was created in it`s side, widening to
become big enough for a human to pass through. The net.heroes boarded.
There was, for one blessed moment, silence. Then it began.
"This is your fault," accused Mr. Trenchcoat. "You screwed up
the changeover in Finland!"
"My fault?" returned GrimLad. "You were the one who suggested
all this in the first place. If you hadn`t come crashing into my bar,
we wouldn`t be in this mess!"
"Oh, that`s right. Blame me for mystical events beyond my
control, go on, I`m used to it. You know damn well that Finnish second
hand account dealer was dodgier than the Welsh cricket team."
"That was a legitimate business deal. I`ve used that guy
dozens of times before, and he`s never sold me a duff account yet!"
"Oh, very likely-"
"Excuse me?"
GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat turned from their rather heated
discussion to face the occupant or licencee of this particular
voice. "What?" they barked, both being rather annoyed that a perfectly
good argument was being so rudely interrupted.
"I just wanted to get past-" The owner of the voice was an
LNHer whom the two argumentatives did not recognise. All costumes look
the same when you wear a trenchcoat.
"Oh, sorry." The LNHer scurried through the corridor that
GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat had been blocking up.
"Look. The question is not so much one of blame, but of WHAT
THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT!?!?!?"
"No need to shout," said Mr. Trenchcoat irritably. "I`d
imagine that the first thing to do would be to find out exactly what`s
happened to us, and if there`s anything that we can do about it."
"That`s remarkably sensible, coming from you."
"Must be something to do with the change." Mr. Trenchcoat
looked down at his costume, and grimaced. Lots of black, lots of
red. And sigils. Embarrassingly covered with sigils. "God, what
arseheaded tailor designed this?"
"Probably the same one that did mine," replied GrimLad. His
costume consisted mostly of electric blue lightning on a black
background; and unlike Mr. Trenchcoat, he had been deprived of his
natural rainwear fetish by the change. "I suppose we`d better find
someone who might explain all this."
"Shouldn`t be too hard. After all, they all remember us as
this "Legion of Occult Heroes". God, what an awful name."
After some minutes of aimless wandering, prolonged by their
lack of experience with the LNHHQ, and the fact that it was a none too
stable place anyway, the two shameless heroes found their way into the
canteen. In the absence of Cheesecake-Eater Lad, a few people were
enjoying such delights as blueberry pie, freshly prepared pizza and
the occasional mountain of garlic bread. Our protagonists grabbed some
of the local goodies for themselves, and took seating at the same
table as a reasonably intelligent looking man, who was attemping to
work out the meaning of apple pie, and it`s significance to his lunch.
Mr. Trenchcoat looked carefully at the man. There was
something of the doctorate about him, but nevertheless his clothing
could not be called anything other than a costume. GrimLad began to
eat his sugarladen meal, and found it so remarkably tasteful that he
lost interest in anything but that, at least until he finished
gobbling. The man who shared the table with them looked up from his
pie, and blinked at the pair. "Good lord," he said. "A complete
remapping..."
Mr. Trenchcoat widened his eyes as the man rounded the table
and began to querulously examine him with a small electronic pocket
device of some description that the trenchcoated one refused to
subscribe to. "Yes, indeed, a complete change within the geomorphic
consistency of the space/time continuum..." The device beeped a few
times. "No, not complete; not complete at all! Merely physical... as
though there is some form of protection at work. Intriguing..."
"Before I begin to remove your internal organs one by one,"
said Mr. Trenchcoat through clenched teeth, "would you kindly tell me
who you are and what the hell you are doing?"
The man looked up in surprise. "Oh, please, forgive me. I`ve
completely forgotten my manners. Doctor Stomper." He held out a hand
for the shaking of. Mr. Trenchcoat shook it under protest. "I`m just a
little curious about your status in reality."
Mr. Trenchcoat raised eyebrows. "Then you`re probably the one
we`re looking for. What the hell has happened to us?"
"Well, to put it simply, in Layman`s terms (an obscure
physicist from the nineteenth century whose work on contrareality
flows I am a student of), you and your companion have been rewarped
through a reality redefinition process which seems, for some reason to
have been incomplete."
GrimLad chipped in through a mouthfull of pie. "But how the
hell do we stop it?"
"I`m afraid that there isn`t really any way to do so. The
energy source which affects these kinds of changes is, by the very
definition of it`s properties, extradimensional, and therefore
unreachable by any but the more advanced forms of gods."
"I know a few gods," mused Mr. Trenchcoat, "but I don`t think
they`d be all that happy to help us."
"All I can recommend is that you wait and simply let things
happen. I`ve been monitoring a great deal of this kind of energy
washing around lately, which is in itself rather curious, as I only
had it down as a theory before, a theory which stated that this kind
of energy would not be detectable simply due to the nature of it`s
effects."
"Hmph. Thanks for the pseudoscientific explanation of what a
retcon is." said Mr. Trenchcoat.
"You`re welcome," replied Doctor Stomper. "However, I must
warn you that the effects of this change are wildly unpredictable, and
probably not yet fully apparent."
"Thank you. I feel so much better for knowing that," said
GrimLad. There was a barking as of a loudspeaker coughing into
wakefulness from the corner of the room. All turned to look at it.
"Would GrimLad please come to reception... this is a call for
GrimLad to come to reception... thank you..." Grim boggled.
"I promise you that I have absolutely no idea what this is
about."
"For once, I agree with you. We`d better go and see what it
is, though," said Mr. Trenchcoat.
"I'll come with you," said Doctor Stomper.
Doctor Stomper led the way for the simple reason that he knew
the way. Grim and Mr. Trenchcoat followed hurriedly, growing more
worried by the minute. Although this may have been due to the absence
of alcohol in their bloodstreams. To alleviate this as far as
possible, Mr. Trenchcoat hunted about in his favourite garment for the
cigarettes that he was absolutely certain he had put there before all
this had happened (and were, indeed, the same packet he had been
smoking during all that Barnstable mess), and found to his surprise
that they were still there. As they entered the wide reception area,
Mr. Trenchcoat lit up, and began to feel much better about life in
general. A feeling which didn`t last too long.
In the reception area were three costumed heroes, who the
reader will recognise as being the same three who appeared at the
beginning of this story. Nobody else did, however; apart from,
surprisingly, the receptionist. Grim, upon entering, looked about for
anyone who might have reason to call him, didn`t see anyone, and
asked, "So who called?"
"Well, we did, who do you think?" exclaimed the woman.
"Er. We got a bit delayed, I`m afraid. After you left to take
the message to Israishus, we were attacked by this horde of
Shishirishni," said the younger of the men.
"As you do," muttered Mr. Trenchcoat.
"We escaped but barely. How did the rest of the plan proceed?"
asked the older of the two men.
"Pardon?" asked GrimLad, who was, not for the first time,
mightily puzzled.
"Are you alright?" asked the young man.
"That`s not the question. The question is: who the hell are
you?" Mr. Trenchcoat looked keenly at the trio, questioningly,
barbedly. The three stared back, obviously a little confused. Not as
confused, however, as GrimLad was.
"What...?" asked the woman. "Have you completely lost your
marbles again?"
"Are you sure he had any in the first place?" counterpointed
the younger man. "Grim, what`s all this about?"
"Who. Are. You?" asked GrimLad.
"What?" The young man grew a deep frown on his face. "This is
wrong. This is all wrong..." Doctor Stomper wondered where Cliche Dude
was.
"He truly does not know us. There is something deeply amiss
here," added the older man.
"For god`s sake, we`re the Legion of Occult Heroes! Don`t you
remember? You`re supposed to be the leader, aren`t you! Aren`t you?"
implored the woman.
"Look. Let me say this very slowly. There. Is. No. Legion.
Of. Occult. Heroes. It doesn`t exist. It`s a temporary retcon."
GrimLad paused, and then began to thunder at them. "We`re not heroes!
We`re trenchcoaters!"
"You don`t exist," added Mr. Trenchcoat, helpfully. The three
heroes were understandably none too happy about this. They looked to
Doctor Stomper.
"I`m sorry, but it`s true. I don`t remember you either."
"Excuse me...?" asked the receptionist.
"We`re busy," said Grim.
"I just wanted autographs. I`ve never seen the LOH all
together before..."
The woman snapped back at Grim. "There! Somebody remembers
us!"
"Their minds must have been tampered with. Do you think it
might be the Legendary Imp? Or the Diumvirate?" asked the younger man.
"I fear that it may be more serious than that. It may be..."
-a solemn, bated hush as the older man paused in mid sentence- "the
Incorporate Conspiracy. They have often tried to destroy us."
Mr. Trenchcoat was taken somewhat aback by this. "The
Conspiracy?"
"Aye. The very same."
"Grim, there may be rather more to this than we first
thought."
"Please don`t tell me. I`d much rather have a drink."
"The Conspiracy is real. I`ve, er, had recent dealings with
them."
"So?"
"So," interjected Doctor Stomper, "this is no lightweight,
simple, uncomplicated retcon. These three are more deeply bound to
reality than they seem."
"Look," explained Mr. Trenchcoat, "It`s not the conspiracy. I
know them. It`s a retcon, okay? You`ve been retconned into
existence. We were retconned too, the only difference being that we
can remember what things were like before."
"No. We exist. We`re here. We have a past." said the woman.
"Yes, you do now, but until recently that was not the case,"
said Doctor Stomper.
"What they say is true. They have not the stench of lies in
their blood." said the older man. "As you have no knowledge of us, I
shall make introductions. I am known as the Green Trenchcoat. The
young man with the creature upon his costume is called Demon Boy. The
young woman is Leviathan Lass."
"I suppose sensible names were too much to ask for?" said
Grim, pained.
At this point, there was an explosion.
The explosion was outside, but not for long. It broke through
into the reception area with ill concealed force and hurled the
occupants of such against the walls. Dust filled the air in it`s
wake. Amongst the rubble, the various LOHers, NTBers and LNHers
struggled to break free of large quantities of ex-reception area that
were attempting to entrap them. The dust began to glow a lurid colour,
a colour projected from outside. The colour grew more intense as the
various people coughed and fought their way out of the debris. And
then it`s source strode into view.
"I AM IMPLO! HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO CREATE A NEW SERIES? THE
LEGION OF OCCULT HEROES IS CANCELLED!"
"New Series?!? We`ve been going for ages!"
"Go stuff yourself!" shouted Mr. Trenchcoat
"BE SILENT AND ACCEPT YOUR FATE!"
Mr. Trenchcoat arose from the rubble, sigils sparking. There
being nowhere to run, he determined to make a stand. "Fat chance."
"SILENCE! OR I SHALL CRUSH YOU PERSONALLY!"
"Try it, rustbucket! I could do with a laugh!"
"VERY WELL! PREPARE TO BE ANNHILATED!" IMPLO raised arms,
burdened with force, and prepared to beat Mr. Trenchcoat into very
small pieces. He struck. And struck. And struck.
And Mr. Trenchcoat was still standing there. He held aloft a
playing card, that glowed from it`s centre, a popular sigil upon it
that beat back at IMPLO.
"NO... NO! I SHALL RETURN!" and with that, the creature was
gone.
Dust settled. "Care to explain?" asked Grim.
"Ace Up The Sleeve. Only works in moments of dire peril, and
as a last resort. Got it off a man in Alaska."
"Stole it, you mean."
"If you prefer. It worked, though." The card, spent, crumbled
in Mr. Trenchcoat`s hand.
"Actually, the fact that you`re not technically an LNHer and
therefore more resistant to the effects of retcon energy may have
had..."
Grim cut Doctor Stomper off. "We get the idea. What next?"
The Green Trenchcoat replied. "We are all strangers to this
continuum, but I believe our fates are linked with the battle that yet
goes on."
"You reckon we should throw our lot in with them, then?" said
Mr. Trenchcoat.
"A teamup would be advisable, yes." The five LOHers stood
together.
"So. What do we do?" asked Leviathan Lass. Doctor Stomper
piped up.
"How about the RACCelestial Madonna Pageant? I heard that they
might need some extra security..."
"It couldn`t have been something sensible, could it?" asked
Mr. Trenchcoat.
"Not a chance. When this is over, I intend to be drunk for at
least a week. Care to join me?" asked Grim.
"How could I refuse?"
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The story continues (for these guys, anyway) in LNHCP #21.
Be there or be retconned.
--
And these are the words of a supposedly literate student of
English Literature at the University of Warwick...
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Paul Hardy - enubf@csv.warwick.ac.uk - BFFS Student Group Secretary
