“Excuse me,” a voice from the neighborhood of the Hero’s knees said. It sounded like listening to a tax form being read aloud.
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” Nuklear Man said absently. What little of his attention that existed was focused entirely upon the news team. His every step brought them closer to no longer being a problem.
“Excuse me,” the voice repeated. There was a bored quality to it, as if its content was somehow distant from its source. A sigh that bordered between exhaustion and impatience preceded nearly every statement.
“Right. Already done. Now stop bothering Mr. Hero-Man. He has some ‘business’ to attend to.” Nuklear Man looked down to give a big happy reassuring smile that certainly wouldn’t belie the violence he was yearning to perpetrate across the street. But the smile was shattered. He bent over to be nose to nose with the master of the bothersome voice. “So, uh. What’re you supposed to be?”
He was a little green man only two and a half feet tall with thick, leathery skin and a bulging bald cranium that accounted for nearly half his height. He wore a faded blue uniform that was all wrinkles.
“I am Bibbles, your typical Transdimensional Pantemporal Postal Service employee.” His voice was a geology lecture spoken at a geologic pace.
“What’s a Transwhozawhatsit…thingie?”
“The TPPS was founded early in the history of Everything. It was established as a way to effectively ferry important documents to and from the most important and valued individuals of every universe in completely trusted and regulated manner.”
“Oh! The TP
P
S. Sure, gotcha.”
“It’s also the most depressing job known throughout all of existence,” the alien added. “Like you care.”
“Er…”
Bibbles continued, “An employee of the TPPS deals with the most powerful and influential creatures of a trillion worlds in a billion universes. This, of course, is responsible for the TPPS’s renowned low morale, which has become so low in recent millennia that it has become a point of pride. Becoming personally aware that one is no more than an infinitesimal speck on a quark in a universe of unimaginable size usually leads to the eventual mental breakdown of even the most stable and well-adjusted creatures. Most employees go on a killing spree long before their retirement.”
“Y’don’t say,” Nuklear Man said, taking a step back.
“Most scientists just think it's something in the glue.”
“Well. Glue has been known to…um. You’re not starting your mental breakdown and subsequent killing spree here, are you?”
“No.” There was a peeved quality to his comatose tone. He held out a small envelope so heavily covered in stamps that Nuklear Man wondered just where the address was supposed to go. “I have a letter for a 1 (one) Nuklear Man.”
Nuklear Man smiled proudly. “That's me! Gimme!” He bounced like a small child giddy with the glee of Christmas morning.
Bibbles could already tell that he wasn't dealing with one of the intellectual giants of this backwards world. “Well, ‘Nuklear Man’, I'm going to need two pieces of identification first.”
Nuklear Man’s smile disappeared. He reared back to his full height. “I uh...I don't have any ID.” He scratched at the back of his head. “People just sorta know who I am. I tend to stand out in crowds, you know. What with the superpowers, the villainy thwarting, and whatnot.”
Bibbles rubbed his eyes methodically. Nuklear Man could’ve sworn the alien existed in slow motion.
“I can't give you the letter unless you can give me two pieces of identification. It's standard practice. It is very important that we are one hundred percent certain that the proper people receive their mail. Entire civilizations depend on our parcels. Worlds have been saved and destroyed by a simple matter of postage. The fates of galaxies could rest in any of our many,
many
deliveries. As such, I'm going to need two pieces of identification.”
The Hero was at a loss for words. He adopted his “brainy” look, which would have been more impressive had Atomik Lad not thrown away his monocle in a fit of being goddamn tired of it several days prior. “Well, Bibbles,” he said, carrying on heroically despite the missing monocle, “Who
else
would I be?
Hmm
?”
Bibbles stared up at the “Hero” in front of him for several long moments. He took a deep breath.
“Since there are an infinite number of universes, each one rife with infinite variations upon every possible facet of existence, the odds of you being the
real
Nuklear Man are one in infinity to the power of infinity. And though our method of Waveform based dimensional time travel is quite advanced, we aren't arrogant enough to believe that we can overcome odds of that magnitude every single time we turn the machine on.
“You could be a clone, a past version of yourself, a future version of yourself, a clone of a past version, a clone of a future version, an evil twin, a clone of said evil twin, an evil twin from an alternate dimension, a clone of an evil twin from an alternate dimension, an adept shapeshifter, an evil twin of an adept shapeshifter, and so on along an infinite list of variations I have neither the time nor the inclination to discuss with you.” He paused. “With that being said, I need two pieces of identification, please.”
The Hero thought for a moment or twenty until even he could see the impatience oozing from Bibbles.
“You ought to do something about that, it's messy.”
Bibbles raised an eyebrow. “Do you have two pieces of identification or not?”
Nuklear Man’s expression told the world that he just discovered that he had become the very living incarnation of genius. “Yeah, I've got two pieces of identification. In fact…” He paused for dramatic effect but it just made Bibbles yawn widely. Nuklear Man opened his arms wide to encapsulate the whole of the city. “I've got eleventeen
million
pieces of identification right here!” he declared, beaming his proud grin at the populace of the city.
“Outta the road, you freaks!” a passing motorist yelled as he drove by. As it has been mentioned, the citizens of Metroville were used to vacating an area at the first sign of a Climatic Battle of Good Against Evil. They were equally apt at returning to their daily routines as soon as Good was victorious.
Bibbles stared blankly at the muscle-bound buffoon in front of him. He was tired, even by his standards, and had several million other deliveries to make before lunch.
“Yeah, whatever, here.” He handed the letter to Nuklear Man.
“Goody!” Nuklear Man looked back down at Bibbles. The alien’s probability of existence began shifting to a universe slightly to the left. He became incorporeal from the inside out.
“Bye!” Nuklear Man said with a wave. “Now then!” An anxious and excited look broke out across Nuklear Man’s heroic visage as he clumsily opened the stamp-covered envelope.
Inside was—surprise, surprise—a letter. He opened it with fumbling fingers. It read:
Dear “Nuklear Man”,
Happy Birthday!
Dad
His excitement faded. It was replaced with confusion and even a twinge of anger. He looked skyward.
“Dad?”
But the clouds above held no answer.
“Nuklear Maaaaan!” The voice was distant and somehow familiar, as if in a dream. Like a link to his past!
“Faaaather!” Nuklear Man cried out.
“What? Fath—no. Nuke! It's me, Atomik Lad. Faithful sidekick through the good, the bad, and your incompetence.” He was nineteen, slim, but athletic from a lifetime of thwarting evil. He wore a full body outfit of spandex-like material the same as Nuklear Man, only the sidekick’s was a more complex combination of dark red and blue. In the center of his chest was a radiation hazard symbol with a red A in it that melded into the red of the uniform. His hair was a wavy light brown mass that reached to the bottom of his ears. A field of crimson energy surrounded him, twitching and lashing like a roaring fire burning in all directions at once. He landed next to Nuklear Man and it vanished. “You hungry?”
“Starved!” Nuklear Man said. “But I just found a clue to my mysterious past which has haunted me lo these many years.”
“Wanna check out a new restaurant? Cap'n Salty's House of Fugu? I got coupons.”
“Coupons? You make a compelling case. I’m sure my faultless memory will have no trouble reminding me about…oh, whatever it was.” Nuklear Man posed and flexed while pointing skyward, “Onward, Atomik Lad! Ha-ho!” he bellowed dramatically as he shot into the sky like a golden bullet.
Atomik Lad sighed. “It's just lunch, Nuke.”
“My
car!”
A man's voice, shrill with disbelief, rang out near the bank. A pile of rubble that had once been a very sturdy part of the bank’s wall now lay atop his destroyed SUV. Atomik Lad hunched over and wished he had coat lapels to pull over his face. He beat an extremely conspicuous retreat around a corner. Red light splashed across the alley walls and Atomik Lad took to the skies surrounded by a fiery field of crimson.
Sirens could be heard in the distance as rescue workers and Überdyne Reclamation teams rushed to the scene.
“I'll see you in court!” the man screamed uselessly at Nuklear Man's figure as it diminished into the distance.
__________
The two Heroes soared over Metroville. Nuklear Man admired the shiny towers of glass and steel, true testaments to the might of humankind and the height to which society had risen, far higher than even the highest skyscraper. Since Nuke had a nasty habit of flying where he looked, Atomik Lad had to steer him away from running through them.
Nuklear Man gave an approving thumbs up with a wink. “Cap'n Salty's is just ahead!”
Atomik Lad looked at him, “You don't even know where it is.”
“Do so...I was ah, just there yesterday. Hmmphf!”
“Were you now?”
“Yes. A Hero never lies. Write that down or something.”
“All right then, what'd you have?”
The Hero was momentarily set back, but his tenuous foothold on reality let him concoct a story of amazing credibility. “Er, ah. I had the Cherry, um, gufu.”
“You mean ‘fugu’.”
“…You heard what I said.”
Atomik Lad sighed as he looked at Nuklear Man who was having a hard time maintaining eye contact. “You don't even know what fugu is, do you?”
“Try to accuse
me
, of all people, of not knowing what flugu is. Feh!”
“All right then, Nuke. Lead the way to the restaurant.”
Nuklear Man smiled triumphantly for the 4.71 seconds that it took him to remember that he didn't know where Cap'n Salty's was after all. “Ah...why don't you, just for a change of pace mind you, lead the way? Yeah! It'll be a good experience for you. Confidence building. Empowering. Fun!”
“Sure thing.”
“Whew, covered my tracks pretty good,” Nuklear Man thought he said to himself.
“What was that, Nuke?”
“WAH! Er, I said, ‘Habadda, habadda, I likes food?’”
Knowing full well what the Hero had really said and merely wanting to torture his strained intellect, Atomik Lad let it drop. “True, good point.”
“Whew, covered my tracks pretty good.” Nuklear Man thought he said to himself again, but Atomik Lad didn't bother to respond.
Atomik Lad took the lead as per the Golden Guardian's advice. They soared through the pure air, weaved between workplaces and apartment complexes, and waved at those below.
Nuklear Man called ahead to his sidekick, “Say, Atomik Lad, could I see the coupons?”
“Sure,” Atomik Lad said, looking back at his mentor. He dug into his pocket and slowed down as the Hero sped up. “Here,” the sidekick said, reaching the coupons back.
Nuklear Man grasped for the two pieces of paper but in the middle of the transaction a rather surprised pigeon invaded his air space. “ACK!” the Hero tried to say through a mouthful of bird.
Atomik Lad's eyes widened, “Nuke! The coupons!” he pointed where the coupons flittered to the ground far below. They danced like insanity with the wind.
“MMMMM—Sptooey!—NNNNNNNOOOOO!” Nuklear Man exclaimed.
“Now what?” Atomik Lad asked in despair.
Nuklear Man's voice was steeled with determination. “We search!” His Nuklear Sight absorbed every detail for miles as he swept from one horizon to another, “There!” he posed a point, “They're landing in Anderson Circle Garden. If we hurry, we can get 'em before they get all icky gross and sticky with leaves and dirt or maybe stuck in some gum—”
“Nuke!” Atomik Lad yelled in exasperation. “C'mon!” He waved the Hero forward while heading down to the park.
“Oh. Oh yeah!” Nuklear Man followed suit.
__________
Issue 2 – So Many New Characters!
In the lush Anderson Circle Garden, the merry citizens of Metroville frolicked in the warm sun and cool breeze. Some were skating, others were jogging, a few were performing as street entertainers, and the staple elderly people were sitting on park benches feeding birds and fluffy tailed rodents.
“Ah ain't no ‘elderly people’ ye stick-armed laddie!”
And then there was Angus, the Iron Scotsman.
“Ah said, eat ye damned feed, ye bloody rats!”
Angus's doctor had prescribed a strict regimen of relaxation in an attempt to lower the hero's volcanic blood pressure. “Rest and relaxation with absolutely no aggravation,” were his M.D.'s exact words. The Iron Scotsman complied by sitting on park benches and feeding the squirrels.
This compliance aggravated him greatly.
Wearing a fearsome and intimidating Iron: Battle Suit apparently frightened squirrels so they were few and far between. The fact that he was feeding them Momma McDougal's Haggis Bits wasn't helping either. Seeing the other animal patrons attract a larger audience aggravated him which aggravated him more because he hated squirrels even more than the elderly which further aggravated him because he was supposed to be relaxing which was an aggravating practice in its own right.
“ARGH!” he howled in rage and hurled the box with Momma McDougal's nurturing face at a pack of animals huddled around a more successful elderly couple. He picked up his helmet. It bore the enraged visage of a fierce bearded Scotsman and did nothing to help gain the attention of squirrels. Angus hopped off the bench because he was, to be kind, of below average human adult height.He stormed off with blackened clouds of anger over his head. While walking to no particular destination he saw two objects flutter from the sky. He snatched them angrily from the air with his spiked gauntlet.