Fan-Fic Contest #6 Voting Thread

Peter Parker rummaged through his aunt’s attic. He’d put this off for months; he was still processing her death. Peter picked up an old steamer trunk and the bottom promptly fell out sending paper and dust everywhere.

“Great!”

Peter waved the dust away when he spotted an old musty leather bound journal. He picked it up, brushed the dust off the front.

“The Journal of John Frederick Parker “

And it fell open. Peter’s eyebrows went up as he read the entry.

**

1865

March 10 Today I was bitten by a spider! I was coming out of the tavern during the storm when a spider dangled down and bit me pon the hand! Twas ever so painful but ne’er as painful as the bolt of lightning that followed!

March 11, I fear I am ill! My head buzzes

March 12, I am possessed by the Devil! A horse and carriage near ran me over and I leapt out of the way…to the second storey of a building!

March 14, I am late again to my policing duties! Colonel Jameson berates me and I am made to clean the stables. I seem to have the abilities of a spider…I tried to talk to Father Robson but my tongue has been tied with trying to explain my nonsense.

April 3, Jefferson Davis has fled Richmond Virginia! The Union has made him turn tail, victory seems closer

April 10, General Lee surrendered! The war is OVER!

April 12, Colonel Jameson has assigned me to guard President Lincoln! Brock thinks it should be him, I’ll show them all! I hope my strangeness passes…

April 13, I meet the President for the first time, towering impressive man. He is a good honest man, trustworthy and upright. I almost blurt out about the weirdness I suffer from but luckily his wife, Mary, took a spell saving me from my folly.

April 15, Yesterday…I…I saved the President’s life and none shall know! Twas the fourteenth and Lincoln and his wife along with Major Rathbone and his fiancée went to Ford’s Theatre to watch a play. I was nervous; there was something in the air. I shadowed the President to the box in Ford’s Theatre; they played ‘Hail to the Chief’ pon his entrance. They took their seats and I waited outside, I am not one for the arts.

I waited til the play had begun whence I ducked to the tavern to calm my nerves when my brain did shriek. I spotted a man, John Wilkes Booth who at the time I knew not. He left the tavern to go to the theatre. He passed easily into the theatre, as he was an actor as I have since learned.

Twas when he headed to the President’s Box my brain shrieked again and I spotted his derringer! I leapt up to the roof and stuck to the ceiling! I was shocked that I grabbed hold of one of the flags and covered my face.

Booth spotted me due to my flag grabbing, and yelped like he’d seen the Devil hisself! I leapt from the roof to confront him in my makeshift mask. He raised his pistol and I moved faster than anything! Before I knew what I’d done, he was with broken nose and disarmed. He drew a knife to slash me from crown to crotch yelling “Qui tueri tyrannos mori est necesse!” (Must ask what that means…I am no scholar)

I moved again like angels must move and then my wrists exploded! From them shot forth grey web like gunk that encased him in a cocoon of spider silk! He looked like a man stuck in a pile of grey manure. He struggled to no avail. Seemingly in response the theatre erupted in laughter…I found out from the President that it was the line spoken by the lead… “You sockdologizing old man-trap!”

Twas then I panicked as I saw movement in the corridors! I quickly scrawled a note and pinned it upon Booth before darting away and back to the tavern.

I casually returned to my post to see Major Rathbone reading my note but the stickiness and his rough handedness tore the letter in twain as he simply read aloud “Regards Spider Man” The note should of read Best Regards From The American Spider…what was I to do, correct him?!

Rathbone yelled at me for not being at my post but the President waved him off, he almost could see right through me. He smiled, he and the wife retired for the evening.

Today I was relived from Presidential detail and put on the hunt for the Spider-Man. Jameson has a bee in his gusset that the Washington Police force has been shown up. Tis funny that I am hunting for myself.

May 16, I am assigned again to Presidential detail…the President shares with me a dream he had about his death during the long coach ride to Fort Washington. I feel that he knows my secret, which I am the Spider-Man, but if he does he says nothing. We are joined on the trip by Abner Stark, a strange weedy scientific man…I hope I can bend his ear at some later stage

**

Peter held the book in his hands, hardly believing his eyes “Wow!”

Title: "Double-Booked"

Harry Hawk: "Today will be my finest performance. History will remember this night forever. Sic semper tyrannis. "

Stage Manager: "All right, folks. Ten minutes till we open the curtains. Don't forget about our special guest up on the balcony. If tonight goes well....the Ford Theater will become as famous as The Globe Theater. We're counting on you, Hawk. Don't mess this up for me."

Harry Hawk: "Don't worry, sir. I won't miss this up for the world."

Stage Manager: "Mess this up. Not miss this up."

Harry Hawk has been waiting for this moment for a long time. Everyone knew that Lincoln was an avid fan of the theater. He just had to make sure he was acting in the right play in the right city. Hawk has been deep undercover since he assigned this mission by Jefferson Davis, the real President. The South's defeat was imminent, but Davis devised a plan that at least Lincoln won't be around to gloat about it. "The South Will Rise Again!!" he told him. "Do this. And live or die, you will be remembered forever."

Stage Manager: "One minute! One minute! Everyone to their places. Ready to make history, Harry?"

Harry Hawk: (peeking through the curtains at Lincoln) "I'm ready."

(Harry Hawk rushes through the curtains)

Stage Manager: "Hawk!! What are you doing?"

Harry Hawk: "Ladies and Gentlemens. My name is Harry Hawk. I welcome you to our humble play and hope you enjoy the story we are about to share with you. I hope my performance becomes memorable in the hearts and minds of all present here tonight. We also have a special treat here tonight. If everyone would give a round of applause to our president. President Abraham Lincoln!! (points above to Lincoln)

(Crowd looks up and applauds)

Lincoln: "Thank you. Thank you." (makes a bow as a shadowy figure comes up from behind)

(Hat falls down off the balcony)

Hawk makes his move a reveals his conceiled pistol and aims for Lincoln just as he goes to make a bow. Normally a good shot, he never imagined that the upper balcony would be that dark. Trusting in himself, he takes a breath and takes his shot.

(Bang!!)

Booth: "Sic semper tyrannis!!" (aims pistol and fires)

(Bang!!)

(Thud. Thud.)

Two shots. Two killed. Through a twisted sense of fate, Hawk shot upwards at the same moment Booth shot downwards. And because Lincoln bent over to retrieve his fallen hat, he narrowly escaped his would-be assassins as they shot and killed each other.

The End.

A man lay peacefully, and yet, this was the day he would die. However, he had lived a long life. He lived a life of fame and of war, and one which would not soon be forgotten. His beard was grey now, but he still felt the stains of blood upon it from the countless soldiers who lost their lives. That

was years in the past, though it seemed so present. In fact, it seemed as though his life had ended, or was supposed to end with that war. His thoughts drifted back to a fateful day, when a young man saved his life. It was in the theatre. There was an assassin and some conspirators, but also a man...

A man hurriedly made his way to the President's box. There was no time for dawdling, as he pushed past ushers and anyone else in his way. He reached the first door before the box, and spoke with the guard.

“Let me pass. I need to see President Lincoln.” he said.

“I'm sorry, sir, but the President is already entertaining a guest.” the guard replied.

“Booth! Out of the way; I may already be too late!” the man yelled, pushing the guard aside and trying the door, which had been barricaded from the inside, and would not budge.

“Sir!” the guard shouted.

“Help me with this! The President is in danger!” the man shouted back.

The guard sighed and aided the man in knocking down the door. With one try the door flung open, and the stick used to brace it lay broken on the floor. A man was peaking through a hole in the second door, which led to the box, but spun around upon hearing the crash. It was John Wilkes Booth, a prominent actor.

“Stop, you!” the man screamed and he bolted for Booth, who drew a pistol and opened the second door. He aimed the firearm at the President's head and all hope seemed to be lost. However, time was on the side of the man, as he lept into the air and tackled Booth. The pistol slid across the

floor and out of Booth's reach. President Lincoln heard the scuffle and stood up, gazing at the men on the floor below him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

The guard from the first door approached the President and spoke, “This man here is John Wilkes Booth. He requested an audience with you and was given entrance. The second man... well, the second man saved your life it seems.”

The mysterious man stood up and dusted himself off. He leaned on Booth to prevent him from moving, and produced identification. “Hello, I'm--”

"Doctor!" former President Lincoln tried to shout.

"Hush, Abraham. I am here." the doctor answered.

"How--how much longer do I have?" Lincoln asked.

"Not long now. It'll be when you fall asleep. No pain." the doctor answered.

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad you are here, as there is something I've been wanting to ask. There was a day; long ago. There was also a man, who saved my life. And, I've been wondering, doctor, was I supposed to die that day?” Lincoln quietly spoke.

“I... it's best not to ask those questions, Abraham.” the doctor slowly responded.

“I think it is hard for him. It was certainly hard for me. Deciding the fate's of men... that is best left for God. I am sorry such a task fell to me, and to him. For each man we saved, how many more died? How many died that I was to be saved? He never gave us his name. I wish that I knew it, so I

could properly thank him.” continued Lincoln.

“Did he not?” the doctor questioned.

“He called himself: doctor.” said Lincoln.

“Ah. Wasn't it just The Doctor?” The Doctor asked, with a wink.

“Yes... I believe it was, Doctor.” Lincoln's eyes closed as he spoke, and he fell asleep.

The Doctor nodded and whispered, “Now he belongs to the ages.” He quietly stepped into his Tardis and was gone.

Abraham Lincoln: Why, I do say this play is quite--

*John Wilkes Booth leaps in front of Lincoln*

JWB: Bang!

*JWB shoots gun but water squirts from it instead.*

Lincoln: Oh John! You got me.

JWB: Aww Abe. Come here!

*They hug it out before JWB is tackled by a stampede of modern-day security guards*

1865

My name, for now, is John Wilkes Booth. In my hand, a single-shot derringer, in my head, one single line- sic semper tyrannis. I am about to commit murder.

History will remember this day, the day that a President was murdered. Will they see it how I see it? No. Will he see it as they see it? No. This is all a ploy. The bullet will find nothing but the side of the wall opposite their chairs. The only casualty today will be that of me, jumping from the balcony and onto the stage, one of the many things that I have come to call home. A month ago, President Lincoln received a note on his desk, no one knew where it had come from and the note was not signed. The message, though, was clear. President Lincoln was a marked man.

This man though, has stood down men far fiercer than I care to imagine, he is a brilliant man for all tense and purposes and a plan such as this is by far a work of genius. Their numbers are great, but we are greater. They believe themselves to be all knowing, yet we know more. They believe that I am to murder President Lincoln, but in a twist of fate, it is I that shall help to murder them. They have no name, no symbol, but they have been known all throughout history, the words inside the note is evidence of that.

They approached me just three days ago; my ‘purpose’ is simple, shoot and run. They do not know who I really am. My papers are forged. Their information on me is false. The President knows many people, he made me and at the end of this adventure, I will be destroyed and be free to return to my wife and child. I am an actor, nothing more, in this play of magnificence.

They believe that I will be ending a menace to their society tonight. That is not so. Tonight, I will be helping a hero.

Without a sound, the door opens to the balcony.

“Hello John.”

“Mr. President.”

Tomorrow morning the papers will read of his death and of my ’name’, the most wanted man in America. He assured me that this will go without a bump, I am sure of that. While I run away, he shall run towards the danger, They believe that he will be dead. They will never see him coming.

Let it begin.

BANG!

“SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!”

1885

“Good evening Mary.”

Oh how her eyes still gleam. They’re just like they were those twenty years ago when I stepped into his office. Her eyes, though, do not hide the fact that they have been filled with tears.

“Twenty long years, John, it took him twenty years to stop them.”

“Yes I know. I received word of Their death just two months ago. He must have been so peaceful during his final days.”

Mary nods her head with agreement. “It was not until the war ended did I ever see him so at peace. There is no reason why I would think that he did not die happy.”

Her eyes begin to well up with tears and I hold her close. The day when Abraham Lincoln told me of his plans I knew that he was a good man and now I realize that he was quite possibly the greatest man that I will ever know. He saw this nation come together once again after a great war and now, laid to rest all of those years later, he saw the ending to one of the single most dangerous forces known to man, and quite possibly brought this world together. With Mary in my arms, I, John Trevor, shed a tear for my fallen hero.

May the Sons of Liberty live forever in their search to end the tyranny such as the one that had once caused one of the greatest men in history to work behind the shadows and stop them, forever.

Abraham was on his chair looking at his documents. He hated his work all that responsibilities,he looked a last time at these papers and stand up. Lincoln thought about his country,he loved it and he was here to protect it from every danger. He walked out and his black servant Ali smiled at him and said "Here mister President the candies you love so much" Abraham looked surprised at him and took the candies."Ali why are you still here? I mean you don't have to work for me anymore I freed your people from slavery!" Ali looked at him with glassy eyes "Yes Sir but you are like family to me you never treat me wrong!" Abraham didn't know what to say so he simply hugged him.

After that conversation he walked past his wife's room he could hear her with her lover John Booth a famous actor he knew that he met him during his trip to Europe three years ago. Lincoln sights sadly then walk back to his office,he looked back on these documents. He hated them. He finished his work and then met Major Rathbone. They where sitting around a huge table drinking coffee, The President slowly said:"Major is the special soldier ready?" The Major smiled a bit lifted his cup to drink a bit then looked back to his President "Yes they are they will be ready when you order it" Abraham slowly said "Good send him out and make sure he protect our country" The Major nods and stud up "I have to go mister President!" He sharked his hand and walked out.

It was late in the night The President couldn't sleep where he wasn't sure about making the right choice. Suddenly a huge explosion emerged from no where. The President jumped up and took the revolver he always keeps next to him and screamed "Peter sorry John! John Parker! Come here!" Lincoln walked out smoke was surrounding him. It was hard to see for him but he kept on moving but suddenly he saw something screaming running at him he shoot two bullets,the creature felt on the floor; Abraham hesitated but walked over to it and screamed crying "No! No! I'm So sorry! Ali!" He held the dead body in his arms.

But then he looked up and saw someone staring at him with red glowing eyes "W..What are you doing here?!" Screamed the scared President "Your supposed to protect us not hurt us!" The creature smiled slowly then said with a deep voice "You opened the gate to hell mister President! That was a huge mistake!So now you are going to pay!" Abraham took his revolver and shoot the monster it dodges the bullets and grabbed him by the throat and pulled him up. Lincoln could feel his strong hand slowly crushing his neck. But suddenly the monster stopped his eyes where wide open and then he felt to the ground. Abraham felt and saw someone familiar standing there with a sword."Booth! John Booth!" He was surprised that his wife's lover would save him. John smiled happily and said "Oh your surprised aren't you? Well he kinda destroyed my plans but that's not a problem now! "

John lifted his small revolver and pointed it at Abraham "Good bye!" Abraham shouted ,moments like this made him hate his job even more,he reached his hand to his revolver but released that there where no bullets left."Wait! wait! Just tell me why!?" John simply said "Your wife!" then he shoot.

The Assassination By Allie Ho

My slender fingers hold onto my wife

They rest in a cradle of warm life.

She smiles, and I

Try to ignore my dream with foresight,

My dead corpse lay in the house of White.

My low spirits which were lifted high,

Mary held onto me gave a worrying sigh

“What would Miss Harris think of me hanging so?”

I gave her an assuring no

So with that the scarlet curtains slide to and fro.

Our American Cousin was an amusing skit

The farce was fun with its clever wit

“You sockdologizing man-trap” was a black bit

A faint rustle came with a slamming hit

Mary gave a fearful shriek beside me where I sit.

A sense of vertigo came over me

As she…

As she…

As she cradle me and cried.

I heard no more and was dragged into black

I stood still but was sailing through the smog with no control

“Is this the heaven I was promised or had I been forsaken?

I fell into a drought of despond no mortal can cure.

Timeless moments after, I glimpse two men.

The first a gentleman in a suit who I seemed know

And a fine young lady who wears robes of blood red

The man spoke, “I welcome you, Abraham to my realm.”

“You’re also close to death, but I will be fine.” The lady said.

I locked eyes with the two of them and realized who they are

“I’m honoured to meet you, Morpheus and the Angel of Death.”

The gentleman revealed smile, a pair of sparkles in a comforting abyss

“May I ask questions?” I managed to ask

“You have the time as you slip into this state,”

“A thread you lie on between the world and the golden gates.”

“What is my legacy, would my deeds be carried?” I pled

“I’m afraid your death is not the last but you have saved many.”

The robed lady stepped in and adds, “Don’t you feel bad,”

“You united the nation, nothing to be sad.”

“The black is free; your assassin is a cad,”

“His party collapsed for that you can feel glad.”

“But don’t be angry for his foul act,”

“His brother brought life for your son from death exact.”

The lady offered her hand,

A decision I see.

The worth of a living stand,

Or the scent of sweet release.

Before I choose my destiny,

I turned towards the lord of dreams

Do not feel bad for me as I leave,

But keep my hopes alive

So all men can feel the dream

Of a nation that unites.

I may be a mortal but

What I have shall give.

I gave a deep bow and he gave a nod

If realizing a terrible choice I’ve done

I held the hand in front of me and said,

“I accept.”

Her face revealed a beautiful smile,

One that I haven’t noticed ‘til now

My vision rippled as it became sun clad

But not without a memory before I left

My Mary laughs beside little Tad.

Author’s Epilogue

I may not be fancy with words,

Or fairy tales with birds.

But what I can do is remember the past,

And try to give him a proper rest.

May he be remembered,

The president that lit that bright ember

To have this present.

“Don’t know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal – you sockdologizing old man-trap.”

President Lincoln, his wife, and their guests roared with laughter, along with the rest of the theater. Just then, a man burst into their booth. “Mister President!”

Major Rathbone, though startled, reacted first. “What’s the meaning of this?”

President Lincoln held up a hand to Henry Rathbone, stalling any further outburst long enough to say, “Major Rathbone, this is one of my men. He serves me in secret, as part of an agency that I have only today signed the legislation for. They are not officially commissioned yet. Heironymous? What is your news?”

“Mister President, an attempt on your life has been stopped, but I don’t know by whom!”

“What?” gasped Mrs. Lincoln.

“Oh!” declared Clara, Henry’s fiancé.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you don’t know by whom? It wasn’t your men?”

“My men are not capable of what I found, sir. Two bodies, suspended in the alley from their ankles, and…” Heironymous looked at the women apologetically, but continued, “…and they were skinned, sir.”

Clara fainted at this news. “Clara!” Major Rathbone caught her before she could fall out of her chair, and was sitting her up when another man burst into the booth.

“Why! It’s John Booth!” Mary Lincoln said quickly, recognizing the actor before he could even raise his gun.

Heironymous moved faster, inserting himself between the President and Booth. As Booth swung the gun upwards, he yelled, “Sic seemper tyrannis,” but the agent clamped his fist around the end of the barrel, muffling the shot so that it was barely heard in the theater below.

Wrenching the gun from the stunned actor’s grip, he displayed the bullet, which had never left his hand, shifting the pistol to his free hand. With a frightful gleam in his eye, he grabbed Booth by the lapels and said, “That’s not the right kind of weapon to use against me.” He was about to hit Booth, when he noticed three red dots, forming a triangle, moving across the would-be assassin’s shoulder, towards his neck.

Puzzled, Heironymous said, “What the devil,” and reached out to brush them away, only to see them on the back of his hand. Before he could wonder any further about them, an odd, animal-like growl caught his attention, and he spun around, looking into a dark corner of the President’s booth. A light flashed from the area, and Heironymous was staggered back into Booth, knocking him against the wall, where the would-be assassin slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The light and noise panicked the theater goers. Not knowing what else it could be, someone yelled, “Fire!” and the crowd began to bolt for the doors.

The agent regained his feet quickly, a large hole in the front of his suit, singed and smoking, but his chest only slightly scorched. Mary and Clara gasped in astonishment, while Rathbone protested, “My God, man! What are you?”

Heironymous’ only answer was, “Major Rathbone, get the President and the women out of here! We’re not alone!”

Rathbone looked around quickly, “What? Where…?”

Heironymous, still peering into the dark corner of the booth, replied, “I can see in the dark. Go. Get them out.”

The President stood immediately, helping Mary up, holding her firmly by one arm, and said, “Come, Mary.” Eyeing Rathbone, he said, “Major, if you please.” Rathbone gathered Clara in similar fashion, and they started for the door, Rathbone in the lead, to make sure the way was clear. Heironymous continued scanning the dark corner of the booth as another growl came from the darkness.

Lincoln was in the back of the group, keeping the women between him and Major Rathbone. Before he could get out of the room, a bright blue halo of light shimmered into view behind him, and what appeared to be two skeletons, shining like highly polished swords, stepped out of the light. One scanned the room, and detecting the beast in the corner, moved that way, as the other one stepped towards the President, its fist turning into a blade. It shouted “Sic semper tyrannis,” and thrust the blade part way into Lincoln’s shoulder.

Heironymous moved then, quickly grabbing the attacker and yanking it backwards, ripping the blade out of the President’s wound. He punched the skeletal attacker in the face, bringing a metallic clank, but no dent. He shouted, “Rathbone! Go! Get them out!” and Rathbone hurried the horrified women away. The monster and the agent began trading punches then, neither blade nor blows having much effect for either of them.

The second attacker was blasted by the same powerful light that had struck the agent, and its left arm dangled loosely from its shoulder. Its right hand formed into a blade, and it punched at the wall, a loud thunk like an axe chopping a tree, as the blade sank into the wall. What seemed like small streaks of lightning arced back and forth then, and the beast came into full view, the mechanical attacker’s blade revealed to have struck just above the beast’s shoulder, damaging a mask that it wore. The beast removed the mask, unveiling a face more animal than man, a pair of mandibles on either side of its mouth. Two blades extended from each of the beast’s wrist gauntlets, and it roared at the metal attacker, the mandibles flexing wide as it did so.

The steel skeleton wrenched the blade from the wall, swung backwards, and then swung forward at the beast again. The beast moved swiftly, parrying the blade to one side, and causing the attacker to stumble closer, so they were face-to-face. The beast regarded its one armed attacker for a moment, and Heironymous, still fighting the other attacker, heard an odd, distorted voice say, “Not the right kind of weapon to use against me.” Something moved on its shoulder, and that strange light flashed again, blowing a hole in the skeleton’s chest. The metal form slackened a bit, and the beast moved swiftly, bringing up its right hand and cutting off its opponent’s good arm. It slashed again, several times, kicked at the thing’s midsection, and it fell over backwards.

The beast threw its head back and roared. Then it stepped forward, looking down on its metal adversary. The beast cocked its head to one side, giving that low growl as it assessed its victim. Then it reached down with one hand, yanked the skull one way, then the other, and ripped it free of the body. The red embers in the skull’s eyes flickered out. The beast looked at the skull for a moment, and then dropped it into a net bag that hung from its belt.

The skeletal thing fighting Heironymous seemed to sense the demise of its twin, and tried to turn away from the agent to the beast. Heironymous punched it in the back of the head, causing it to stagger forward, and regained its attention. As it spun to face him once again, Heironymous inhaled sharply, and breathed flame at the metal monster, accompanied by a roar to rival that of the beast on the other side of the room. The mechanical assassin staggered back from the flame, and parts of it could be seen beginning to melt, even as the walls and chairs of the booth began to catch flame. It stumbled away from the flames, then ran towards the President, leaning heavily against the door jamb, his hand clutching at his wounded shoulder. It leaped at the President, a blue halo forming around it again, and before Heironymous could react, both were gone in a flash of blue light.

Booth had come to on the floor, and groped for the gun that lay nearby, dropped when the agent began fighting the monster. He lifted it towards Heironymous, but a heavy boot came down on his arm, pinning it to the floor. He looked up to see the beast’s mandibles flex, as it growled low. Booth was frozen in fear as the beast, in a voice that sounded like his own, but distorted, said, “Sic semper tyrannis.” Booth managed a short scream before the beast stomped on his head. Pulling a vile from his belt, he poured part of the contents over Booth’s body, dissolving it to nothing before Heironymous’ eyes.

“Wait. This is what you want me to tell the Special Investigations Committee? That Honest Abe Lincoln was attacked by an alien, and abducted by a time travelling robot? None of which were found at the site of this assassination attempt. Here, do you mind?” The man handed Heironymous a cigar, and the agent breathed on the tip, lighting it. “I’m parked another block up.”

“No, agent Gyrich, I want you to tell them the same thing I did, nearly one-hundred-fifty years ago: that President Lincoln died in his sleep, twenty years later.”

“And how did you pull that off, pray tell?” asked Gyrich, puffing on his cigar.

“We did our job, new though it was. We put out a cover story that Mary’s health was failing, due to the shock of the attempt on Lincoln’s life, and that the President resigned his office to be with her. His Vice-President, Andrew Johnson, took office, the Secret Service was officially commissioned a few months later, and we continued to look for Lincoln. He and the robot reappeared twenty years later – the robot too damaged to make it back to the future. The President lost a great deal of blood from the robot’s blade, was further stressed by the time travel, and he died due to the complications from his wound. We amended that to ‘died peacefully in his sleep,’ for the official public notice.”

Gyrich stopped and faced Heironymous. “Uh-huh. You’re skipping something though. What happened to the other robot?”

“We buried it in a secret grave after the fire was put out.”

“Why would they attack Lincoln?”

“If they could kill him and help ensure a Southern victory, and a continuation of slavery, half of their job would be done for them in the future.”

Gyrich pursed his lips, nodded tightly. “And this ‘beast?’”

“Turned invisible and escaped.”

“Come on,” said Gyrich skeptically.

“What do you want, Henry? It was 1865. We’d never seen that before.”

“Okay.” They continued walking, and turned into a parking garage. “And what about the two skinned bodies you mentioned?”

Heironymous stopped this time, and Gyrich turned back to look at him. The agent smirked. “Well, a dragon’s got to eat.”

Henry grimaced. “Really? That’s disgusting.” Turning to continue towards his car, he said, “The Committee isn’t going to like this story.”

“The robots and the aliens have shown up in Los Angeles on three different occasions, as well as in Central America. They would adjust, but Henry, they really shouldn’t hear about this.”

“I don’t have a choice, Heironymous! I’m duty bound to tell them!”

“And I’m duty bound to keep it a secret.”

“Meaning?”

Heironymous sighed. “A dragon’s got to eat.”

Henry Peter Gyrich’s screams echoed throughout the parking deck, followed by a roar, and then nothing.

The League of In-ordinary Gentlemen.

The theater was dark, and more then a little warm. And the clothing, ugh. It was suffocating! How had he ever lived like this? He couldn't wait to get back to the future, to his air conditioned palace. Back to the possible future, that was. Where he ruled the masses of cattle, like the superior mind he was.

"Nothing personal, Mr President. Just bad business." He leveled his glowing fist at Lincoln, ready to blast him to, well, history. Except the shadowed figure didn't move, or make any sort of reply. Something was amiss here...

"Going to shoot a man from behind? That's just unsporty behavior." A tall, gaunt figure, dressed like a gunslinger, stepped from the shadows, and pointed two large pistols at the would-be-assassin. "Come along quietly now Dr. Tesla, These people paid good money for this show, I would hate to ruin it with gunfire, and such."

"This," He prodded the 'president' with one finger, "Is a dummy." He seemed more amazed then angry, at having been foiled so easily. "How did I not sense you there, in the shadows?"

"Trade secrets, Dr. Tesla. Now, off with the ring, before you have to swallow a hard pill." He cocked the guns with his thumbs for emphasis.

"Oh, how elegantly put, Reverend Syn. Here then, take it!" He pointed his fist at Reverend Dr. Syn.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Reverend Syn fired in quick response, and in the enclosed place, the shots boom like cannonade fire. But Tesla is unaffected. "You're a faster shot then you get credit for, Reverend. Unfortunately, bullets aren't overly effective against a magnetic force field." He repelled the bullets at Dr. Syn, who narrowly dove to one side.

"Lets take this fight outside." Scrooge croaked from the doorway. "Aufero ad extra!" Suddenly they were outside, on the street. "Spiritus obedire! Spiritus impetum!" Scrooge yelled another enchantment, and wandering spirits in the area converged on Tesla, in an ethereal swarm.

Again, Tesla's ring glows, and a dozen golden beams rip through the shrieking apparitions. "Magic is only energy, and I am the unquestioned master of energy! Your tired old tricks are no match for me, magician."

"How about a new trick then? Terra contundito!!" The cobblestone street took on the form of a hand, and clutched Tesla in it grip.

"Bringing out the big guns already? As you wish..." He phased easily through the hand, then formed an electrical construct in the shape of a giant hammer, and swung it down on Scrooge with a crash.

"Bet'cha like me now, eh?" Spring Heeled Jack grinned down at Scrooge, whom he had narrowly pushed out of harms way.

"I would like you to return to whatever infernal--"

"Shush now lad," The demon pressed a cold claw against Scrooges grizzled lips. "Thank me later." The creature winked in a perverted manner, and scuttled away before Scrooge could reply.

"Get your mind on the situation Jack." Reverend Syn grunted. He didn't care for Jack. And would have left him off the mission, had it been his call, that is.

"Neversendamantodoawomansjob." A blue blur speeds past, and delivered a series of speed punches hard enough to crack Tesla's force field.

"Enough of that!" The air around him became a crackling cloud of electrical energy, shocking the blue being, a young girl in a blue dress, and ruby slippers. Tesla shot a bolt of electricity at the girl, who dodged in a blur. "Your circus troupe will need to do better against me."

"Better coming right up." Jack leaped at Tesla, and breathed a stream of sulfurous fire at the insane doctor.

"Pathetic." Tesla commented, completely unscathed by the flames. "My turn." He blasted Jack with energy, sending him rocketing through several buildings. "Is that all you have? Are we done here? Because i have a president to assassinate." He did not notice the figure who lurched up from behind him, and had no warning when the gas over took him. "Ack! What manner of --Cough-- sorcery is this?" He tried to blast the figure behind him, but it passed harmlessly though him. "Man, or devil--cough--you will bow to the master of--energy." The man made no reply, as Tesla sank to the ground, struggling to breath.

"That's enough! He's beaten!" Reverend Dr Syn yelled to no avail. "Scrooge! Call him off!"

"I cannot. This is neither spirit, nor demon." The old man replied quietly. And Tesla died along with the possible future he had traveled from, another victim of the Mad Gasser.