The Alpha Complex—Ontario, Canada

 

Mister Gentry, the administrative head of Department H, shuffled through the labyrinthine halls of the headquarters to Canada’s once greatest super-team, Alpha Flight.  Today, however, the corridors were near silent, save for the shuff shuff sound as Gentry’s feet dragged along the floor and the faint hum of the overhead lights.

 

Whereas once these halls were filled with the support staff that ran and maintained the complex rushing to and fro, these days there was a mere skeleton crew to provide a few clerical duties and provide basic security.

 

And what of the veritable super-hero army that the base was built for…Alpha Flight?  Oh, there were still a few members that spent more of their time hanging out and collecting paychecks than performing missions.  The biomechanical Manbot, the French-Canadian Murmur, and some young woman claiming to be the illegitimate daughter of former member Puck were the only full-time members.

 

Gentry had been asked many times, “What happened to ‘fill-in-the-blank member’” by the press or some member of the public who recognized him on the street.  His answer was usually the same.  “They decided to move on,” he would say with a plastic smile.  But in truth, he asked himself the same question.  Where had they all gone in such a relatively short period of time.  Sure, he knew the basic reasons why many had left.  Some had just “moved on”.  Members like Quasar, Solarman, Kamikaze, and Comet Man had returned to their respective countries of origin.  Some had left to devote themselves to their families.  These included Kara Killgrave and Whitman Knapp, as well as Lillian and Madison Jeffries.  Some had left for opportunity, others due to tragedy.

 

Granted, these things had all happened throughout Gentry’s tenure as administrator to Department H, but there had always been someone else ready to take the place of another member leaving.  This time, however, there just wasn’t.  Membership dwindled which, coinciding with fewer emergencies that needed super-heroes and a worldwide economic recession all led to heavy budgetary cutbacks to Department H.

 

Now here was Mister Gentry, roaming aimlessly the nearly empty halls of this once-thriving base, clutching a communication to appear before Parliament to discuss, as the paper read, “future budgetary appropriations.”  Gentry knew what this really meant…”Give us a good reason to continue funding this sinking ship or we’re shutting you down.”

 

---

 

Shaman

 

In a small medical clinic on the Sarcee Reservation located adjacent to the southwestern section of Calgary, Alberta, Michael Twoyoungmen, M.D., was shining a penlight into a young boy’s eyes. Nearby the boy’s parents looked on worriedly.  After flashing the penlight briefly into both eyes, Michael clicked it off.

 

“Dilation is good,” he said as he picked up the boy’s chart and turned to the parents, “as are his reflexes and mental clarity.  I believe I can fairly certainly assess that Billy doesn’t have a concussion.”

 

The parents worried look subsided somewhat, replaced by what appeared to be guarded optimism.  “Thank goodness,” the mother began.  “When I saw him fly off the swings at the playground…well, I was so worried!”  Her husband put his arm around her reassuringly.

 

Michael put down the chart and tousled the young boy’s hair.  “Children are quite resilient,” he said.  “Still, if he happens to show any abnormal behavior like increased confusion or feeling sleepy all the time over the next few days, then you should probably take him to a hospital in Calgary for a CAT Scan.”

 

Michael then bent down and opened a nearby cupboard.  He pulled out what appeared to be an old square leather pouch about the size of a textbook, with fringe on the flap and bottom.  “Now, Billy, if you promise not to try to fly again, I shall permit you to choose a lollipop out of my pouch here.  Would you like that?” he asked with a smile.

 

Billy’s face lit up with excitement.  “Oh, boy, yes!  I promise!”

 

Twoyoungmen held the bag before Billy, and told him, “Okay, then.  I want you to picture your favorite flavored lollipop in your head, as hard as you can.  Then reach into the bag and pull one out.”

 

Billy squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed silently “Grape, grape, grape,” and reached his little hand into the blackness of the pouch.  His arm could be seen moving back and forth in a searching motion.  After a second, he pulled out his hand, looking somewhat dejected.

 

“There’s nothing in there!”

 

“There isn’t?” Michael asked.  “Hmm, I swear I just restocked it the other day.”  He reached his own hand into the bag, and if anyone had paid close attention it would have seemed that his hand sank into the bag just a bit further than it should have.  However, just as quickly as he had put his hand in, he pulled it out, with a purple lollipop between his fingers.

 

“Ah, looks like there was one left, after all!”  He said as he handed the grape lollipop to Billy, who took it happily.

 

Michael then placed the bag back in the cupboard, closed it, and then helped Billy off the examination table.  He shook the hands of the parents and wished them a fond farewell as they exited the room.  He picked up the boy’s chart again and, with his back to the entrance, was scribbling some notes when from behind him a female spoke.

 

“Testing the boy, dad?”

 

Michael turned to face his daughter and former Alpha Flight teammate, Elizabeth Twoyoungmen.

 

“You disapprove?” he said with a smile.  “I will not be Shaman of the Sarcee forever, and will eventually need to find a successor to train.  If Billy, or any of the others I see, were able to pull an object out of the void of the medicine pouch, then I would know they are at least a potential protégé.  A blood successor would be ideal, but I am guessing there are no grandchildren in my near future.”

 

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips in mock annoyance.  “Not unless you have some other children to have them.  I’ve only got one semester left to finally get my Doctorate in Archaeology, and no little rugrats are going to get in my way now!”

 

Elizabeth walked forward and embraced her father.

 

“Anyway, aren’t I your successor?” she asked when she released the embrace.

 

“You are the successor of my heart, but the shaman of the Sarcee belongs to the Sarcee.  You, as The Talisman, however, belong to all the land,” Michael replied.  “Which, I surmise, is why you have left school to come see me?”

 

Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck.  “Yeah.  I’ve had this…uneasy feeling lately.  Nothing I can pin down…not even using magic.  But it’s still there, regardless.”

 

Michael’s look grew more solemn.  “Yes, I know of what you speak.  I think there is some great evil or danger coming and the spirits of the earth can sense it, and they are passing their unease on to us, who are sensitive to such things.”

 

“What should we do, dad?  Contact Department H?”

 

Michael shook his head.  “No, at this point we really have nothing more than, as they say, a ‘bad vibe’.  I believe the best course of action at this time is for you to go back to school.”

 

“And what about you?” Elizabeth asked.

 

“I think I shall head to the wilderness in order to connect with the spirits of the land, see if I can divine what has them so worried.”

---

 

Guardian and Vindicator

 

In a cemetery in the northwestern section of Ottawa, Ontario, the nation’s capital, Heather McNeil Hudson stood over a gravestone.  Her face pained yet stoic, she bent down and traced her fingers over the name inscribed upon the newly placed tombstone.

 

“Oh, Mac*…how could this happen to us again?  To me…again?  After all the loss and heartache…I thought we…once we had left Alpha Flight…”

 

(*Mac being the nickname of James MacDonald Hudson, her husband. ~Jason MacEberly)

 

She stopped, marshalling the steely resolve that had led her into many a battle.

 

“Dammit, Mac…we deserved some happiness!” she exclaimed with a jaw set firm.

 

She paused, looking at the grave marker as if she expected a response to her rambling, but the only response was a peal of thunder from the increasingly gray skies above her.  Thunderstorms weren’t uncommon this late in the summer, yet Heather ignored the worsening weather that was approaching.

 

Heather continued to stare at the grave, refusing to let her cry.  She felt as if all her tears had been used up years ago.  First from when the doctors had told her and Mac that they’d never be able to have children, and from Mac’s seemingly constant deaths and rebirths.

 

No, she had no more tears, but the sky, as if sensing her despair, let loose its rain in a torrent around her, drenching her within seconds.  Still she did not move.

 

She might have remained there forever if a figure hadn’t come running through the wall of rain.  At first the figure was indistinguishable, a dark gray blob amidst the lighter gray.  Then the figure sharpened into a humanoid shape carrying something, then the figure of Madison Jeffries carrying an umbrella reached Heather.

 

“Heather, it’s time we left!” Madison yelled over the howling wind and pounding rain.  “Lil’s got the car running and we need to get you into some dry clothes before we go to the hospital!”

 

Heather, disturbed from her reverie, turned to Madison.  “Has there been any word?” she yelled at him over the storm, the trepidation still evident nonetheless..

 

Madison shook his head.  “Nothin’ yet, but the surgery’s gotta be about done.  Let’s go…I’m freezin’!”

 

Heather nodded and held up a finger as if to say, Yes, in a moment.  She bent down once more to the headstone, rubbed her fingers again over the name, lingering on the last name of ‘Hudson’.  She then got up and leaned into Madison under the umbrella.  He put his arm around her shoulder and led her back into the gloom.

 

Just before she disappeared, she mouthed the words “I’m coming, Mac…I’m coming.”

---

 

Puck

 

At CBS Television City in Los Angeles, California, Eugene Milton Judd smiled broadly and waved to the crowd as he walked on to the stage of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.  A few feet from the guest chairs, he performed a series of cartwheels and agilely leapt his 3 foot 6 inch self into the chair next to the astonished talk show host.  The crowd whooped and hollered in appreciation.

 

In a Scottish accent dulled slightly by years of living in America, Craig Ferguson yelled to the still noisome crowd, “Calm down, ya hobos…or there’ll be no chicken for you tonight!”

 

The studio audience let out a burst of laughter then quieted down.  Craig turned back to Eugene, who was still smiling broadly.

 

“You’ll have to forgive them,” Craig began, gesturing at the audience.  “We gather our audiences from under bridges and tell them if they’re enthusiastic, they’ll get free chicken.  But the truth is…” He leaned toward Eugene as if to tell him a secret, but said loud enough for everyone to hear, “There is no chicken.”  Laughter from the crowd.

 

“I’m more of a cornish game hen man myself,” Eugene quipped.

 

Craig looked slightly confused.  “Aren’t those those little…,” and his face lighted up in realization.  “Oh, ho…because of your size and they’re little chickens.”  Again, laughter from the crowd.

 

“I guess we know now why I’m not a comedian, eh?” Eugene remarked.

 

“Maybe, maybe not, “ Craig began. “But what you are is America’s newest movie star sensation.  It’s hard for me to believe just a short time ago you were a Canadian superhero!  Really, Eugene?  Canada needs superheroes?”

 

Eugene chuckled.  “Well, you Americans have so many, they tend to spill over into our country.  Plus we have some of our own homegrown villains…and please, call me Judd.”

 

“So you have powers?” Craig asked, moving on.

 

Judd crossed his legs.  “Well, not at first.  At first I just relied on my skill, agility, and dashing good looks.  A few years back, though, some experiments by one of our greatest villains…”

 

“Let me guess!” Craig interrupted.  “It was The Malevolent Moose-Man!”

 

“No, no…it was a villain who goes by ‘The Master of the World”.”

 

Craig faked amazement.  “Yuir greatest villain is David Letterman?”  He then rubbed his chin in contemplation.  “Oh, wait…he’s just the master of my world*.  Anyway, go on…”

 

(*David Letterman owns the company that produces Craig’s show. ~Jason, who watches way too much late-night tv.)

 

Judd continued.  “Well, these experiments gave my body the consistency of hardened rubber, and increased my strength as well.”

 

“Ah, that explains how you do all yuir own stunts.  If you fall off a building, you’ll just bounce!” Craig joked to the audience’s approval.  “Now how did you get from being a Canadian superhero to a Hollywood heartthrob?”

 

“Well, “ Judd began, “As I’m sure you know, a lot of movies these days are being filmed up in Vancouver.  I just happened to be there on a short vacation from Alpha Flight when I came across a movie being filmed.  It was one of those about the Volkswagen bugs…Herbie Gets Recalled I think it was.  Anyway, the lead actress apparently had too much ‘cold medicine’ at lunch and was attempting to steal one of the movie cars in order to find a White Castle.  Anyway, I leapt atop the roof, swung in through the open passenger side window, and made her stop the vehicle.”

 

“Apparently that’s the only thing she’s been able to stop to date,” Craig interjected.

 

“Heh heh,” Judd politely laughed.  “That’s not for me to judge, eh?  All I know is that the producers were so happy I had saved their actress, their expensive car, and who knows how many lawsuits (and I’m assuming my aforementioned dashing good looks) that they asked me if I wanted to do some parts in some of their productions. 

 

Well, I was never one to turn down an adventure, so that night I submitted my leave of absence to Alpha, figuring this would last a few weeks and then I’d be back at bopping bad guys.”

 

“But not so!” Craig continued for Judd.  “You had a few small parts in a few movies…you were ‘Shortsheet’ in Austin Powers 4: The Revenge of Mini-Me, an elf in Santa vs. Satan: The Christmas/Halloween War, and a couple others.  These movies were mostly mediocre yet yuir presence was seemingly the most talked about parts of these movies.  You became so popular that the studio quickly wrote a movie for you to star in.”

 

Judd nodded.  “That’s about it.  Little Man, Big Trouble was a smash, and the sequel, Little Man, Bigger Trouble has its red carpet premiere tomorrow!”

 

“Well, best of luck to you, Eug—Judd,” Craig said.  “However, that’s all the time we have for tonight.  Good night everybody!”

 

Craig waved to the crowd, which erupted in applause as the credits to the show rolled across the screen.

---

 

Witchfire

 

In a small plain room in a very special mental hospital located on the outskirts of London, Ontario, Ananym, otherwise known as Witchfire, huddled in a corner, sobbing.  She held her hands over her ears, tightly, but like every other time, it did nothing to keep out the voices in her head.

 

The voices had been with her as long as she could remember, which admittedly had not been that many years.  She could not remember her life prior to a short time she had been found and inducted into Department H.  She served first as a member of Gamma Flight as a counter to the then-freelance Alpha Flight, then, when Alpha fell back under the governmental banner, as a member of the trainee team, Beta Flight.

 

Yes, the voices had been with her from the beginning.  However, at first they were barely audible to her ears.  The merest of whispers which was easily tuned out and ignored.  As time went on, though, the voices became louder and more insistent.  So insistent that she had become unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time due to their pestering her.

 

And the things they said to her!  Vile, evil things that made her heroic soul writhe in disgust.  When they had become too loud for her to ignore, she had gone to her teammate at Department H, Shaman, to see if she was being haunted or possessed.  Every mystical test Shaman performed on her came up negative.  Whatever the problem was, it either wasn’t magic or a magic more powerful than his.  He suggested that Ananym talk with Department H psychiatrists.  She resisted this idea for awhile, but eventually broke down and did so.  They diagnosed her with schizophrenia, and prescribed medication.

 

When the medication failed to quell the voices, they suggested she admit herself into the care of a mental health institution.  They told of a government run one in Ontario that specialized in powered beings.  She was admitted the next day and had been here ever since.

 

That was some months ago.  Even though she would go days, sometimes weeks without the voices, the doctors had been unable to discover what was causing them or how to prevent them.  If the voices weren’t a symptom of her being crazy, their incessant prattling were slowly causing her to become so.

 

This day had been particularly bad.  She had not been allowed to sleep at all and at breakfast she wandered the cafeteria almost like a zombie.

 

“Good morning, Ana,” a worker behind the counter that had always been nice to Ananym said with her usual smile.  “Eggs scrambled or sunny-side up today?”

 

At nights she rubs peanut butter on herself so her dogs will—

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Ana said absently, hoping to cut off the inner voice.  She picked up her empty tray and went to a corner of the small cafeteria to sit by herself.  Most of the patients tended to stay away from her anyway due to her supposed demonic background, so it was easy to find a table of her own.

 

Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  There was one patient who seemed to take a liking to Ana.  Jodi Furman had been a very early member of Department H.  She had been unstable even then, being diagnosed as an egophobe and deathly afraid of her power to manipulate small pieces of metal (often needles with thread attached) with precision.  This fear was so great it caused her to almost completely withdraw into herself, neither talking nor listening to those around her.

 

For some reason, however, Jodi had taken to sitting near Ana during meals and other times.  She would sit quietly, staring off into space.  Ana knew a little about Jodi from her former teammate Wild Child.  He had nearly killed her and given her several scars across her face years prior when he had had trouble controlling the feral side of his personality.  She had been on the very first mission of Department H when Alpha Flight had been merely called ‘The Flight’.  This mission against the villainous Egghead and his cronies had been disastrous, as The Flight lost several members, including one of the few people Jodi (who had been given the codename Stitch) had ever taken a liking to.

 

As Ana sat staring blankly at her empty plate this morning, Jodi once again sat across the table from her.  She ate her food in silence like usual, ignoring Ana like every other meal.  In Ana’s head, the voices continued.

 

Take your fork and carve out that retarded bitch’s eyes and feed them to her!  Use your magic to devour the souls of everyone in this place!  You know you want to!!

 

Ana was so tired of fighting the voices, and just tired from lack of sleep, that she saw her hand reaching for her fork.  It almost seemed like somebody else was controlling her, and she was on the outside watching.  She saw her slim fingers grip the plastic fork, and she knew that in a moment she was going to attack the helpless Jodi.  She was horrified, yet seemed unable to do anything to prevent it.

 

Suddenly a hand was placed gently over hers.  It was Jodi, and it seemed to snap Ananym out of her trance.  Her head snapped up and she saw Jodi looking directly into her eyes.  The usual blank stare was gone, Jodi was actually looking at her.  Horrified at almost giving in to the voices and terrified she would do so again, Ana yanked her hand out from under Jodi’s, quickly got up, and ran back to her room.

 

That’s where she was now.  Huddled in the corner, the voices shouting profanities and offering temptations to her.  When the door to her room opened, she barely noticed it.  She also barely noticed Jodi Furman enter and sit in front of her.  What she did notice, and it hit her like a thunderclap, is when Jodi placed a hand on her knee, and said very softly:

 

“You are not crazy, and you do not belong here.”

---

 

Sasquatch and Aurora

 

In a modest home within spitting distance of McGill University in Montreal, Quebec, Walter and Jeanne-Marie Langkowski prepare for another day of educating young minds.  Walter, the perennial Alpha Flight member Sasquatch, was a professor at the nearby university, teaching physics.  Jeanne-Marie, also known as Aurora, taught history and geography at a local Catholic school.

 

They had left Alpha Flight some time ago in order to try to build a life together as a married couple away from the constant mayhem of super-heroing.  They had been lucky to find jobs close to each other, and had lived a quiet suburban existence ever since.

 

Their routine was pretty constant.  Jeanne-Marie woke up around 4:30 AM.  After showering and drying her hair, she would wake Walter up.  They would talk as she dressed in the proper garb of someone who would teach at a Catholic school.  As she tied her hair back into a tight bun atop her head and place the glasses she barely even needed for reading, Walter was always astounded how she almost seemed to change into a different person.  Any other time she was flirtation and fun, but when she changed into her teacher ‘identity’, her posture would become very rigid, her speech very formal, and her French accent would get more pronounced, as the school she taught at primarily spoke French.

 

While it was interesting to Walter, it wasn’t entirely surprising.  Aurora had suffered from multiple personalities for much of her life, and while they had been mostly unified for quite a while now, sometimes aspects of one of her former personalities would become magnified.  Of course, to Walter, she was still less crazy than his first wife, Veronica.

 

After Jeanne-Marie would give him a somewhat cold good-bye and leave, Walter would usually get up, shower and groom himself, and ride his bicycle to his lab on campus.  He didn’t have his first class until 1:00 PM, so he would putter about in the lab that the university had so beneficently provided to him.  When he arrived home after his final class (around 6:30), Jeanne-Marie would be grading papers at the dining room table, even though she would be much more warm and affectionate than she had in the morning.

 

This morning had been no different.  Jeanne-Marie had arrived at The School of the Sacred Priory at about 6:15 AM, and she went to her classroom.  She would study her lesson plans for the day until students would start trickling in around 7:30.  Today, however, she had been battling a small headache that had made it a bit difficult to concentrate.  She had gotten a cup of coffee from the teachers lounge, and taken some aspirin.

 

One of her students, a young woman by the name of Rebecca DuPont, approached Jeanne-Marie’s desk.

 

“Bonjour, Madame Beaubier,” she said.  Beaubier was Jeanne-Marie’s maiden name, and the name she taught under.  “<I have that extra credit report you>*—oh!”

 

(*Translated from the French.  ~Monsieur Eberly)

 

Rebecca placed the folder on the desk, accidentally knocking over the styrofoam cup filled with coffee, and spilling its contents across the desk.

 

Jeanne-Marie quickly stood up.  “<You clumsy oaf!  No wonder I never wanted to have children…they have the coordination of a bull in a china shop!>”

 

She glared at Rebecca for a moment, until the sight of the young ladies eyes begin to tear up caused Jeanne-Marie’s face to soften.

 

“<I’m so sorry, Madame.  It was an accident!!>” Rebecca said.

 

“<No, child,>” Jeanne-Marie said with regret in her voice.  “<It is I who am sorry.  It was indeed an accident and I should not have had a drink in here in the first place.  I am sorry for snapping at you.  Now go fetch me some paper towels and we shall clean this up.>”

 

Even though she smiled politely at Rebecca as she turned to fetch the paper towels, Jeanne-Marie was deeply troubled.

 

“That did not sound like me,” she thought.  “That sounded like something my poor brother, Jean-Paul, would have said*.”

 

(*Jean-Paul, aka Northstar, was killed in M2K’s Alpha Flight #48. ~Jason)

 

The rest of the schoolday passed without incident, though Jeanne-Marie continued to feel out of sorts.  It worried her since it felt similar, though not the same, as when she would shift personalities in years past.  After work, she returned home and despite still dealing with her head hurting, she tried going through her usual of grading papers at the dinner table.  However, she found herself easily distracted and watching the clock and finding herself growing impatient for Walter to arrive home, even though he wasn’t due for an hour or so.

 

Then suddenly a great pain erupted in her head, as if her brain was trying to jump out of her skull.  She grabbed the sides of her head and screamed from the pain.  She stood up, knocking over her chair.  The pain made her feel nauseated as soon as she stood, so she quickly stumbled to the bathroom, where she was barely able to get the lid of the toilet up before she vomited up the day’s lunch.  She huddled over the bowl, shaking from the waves of pain and nausea that washed over her for several minutes.

 

Eventually the head pain and nausea subsided, and she rose and went to the sink.  She ran the water, filling her cupped hands and splashing it on her face.  Feeling better, Jeanne-Marie grabbed a towel, dried her face, then grabbed the mouthwash in order to wash the taste of vomit from her mouth.  When she looked up into the mirror, what she saw reflected back at her stunned her so much that she dropped the bottle, causing the contents to spill onto the floor.

 

At that time, the front door opened and in walked Walter, home from work.  As he tossed his keys into the little bowl on the stand by the door (a housewarming gift from the Hudson’s) he looked around, and not seeing Jeanne-Marie, called out:

 

“Hey, babe…I’m home!”

 

After a brief pause, Jeanne-Marie’s voice emanated from the bathroom.

 

“I…I will be right out, Walter.”

 

---

 

Wild Child

 

At a sideshow amid a small traveling circus on the outskirts of Vancouver, British Columbia the animal-like human that was once Kyle Gibney paced in his cage, growling lowly at the spectators as they passed.  Parents held their small children close, while many of the younger people barely looked up from texting on their phones long enough to give a cynical look.  A few people tossed popcorn or peanuts into the cage at Dibney.

 

“What is that, mommy?” one little girl asked.

 

The girl’s mother, keeping a tight grip on her young daughter’s shoulders, responded.

 

“I don’t know, honey.  I can’t tell if it’s some kind of animal or perhaps one of those mutants.  Whatever it is, it looks dangerous, so don’t get any closer.”

 

The mother and daughter moved on, as did the day.  Whenever the spectators seemed underwhelmed or Gibney would relax, a carny worker that sat nearby would poke him with a long stick, causing Kyle to growl and thrash about to the delight of the onlookers.  At the end of the day, the tent containing Kyle would be closed up, some raw meat tossed into his cage, which he would devour quickly, and he would sleep.  The next day would start the routine again.

 

How had the former member of Omega, Gamma, and Alpha Flight as well as X-Factor and the questionable Factor X come to these circumstances?  If the man in the cage knew, he was unable to communicate it due to the dominance of the beast within him.

 

If he could, Gibney would remember back to his being detained by the authorities after his defeat by the team known as Force Works*.  Within less than 24 hours, he had slipped police custody and, disgruntled with his attempts at helping people in Factor X, worked his way back to his native Canada.

 

(*This tale took place in M2K’s Force Works #’s 17-21. ~Jason Works (Very Little))

 

As he worked his way north and westward, Kyle’s appearance, which was normally animalistic (with fangs, claws, cat-like eyes, ears that were shaped somewhat like a leaf, and tufts of hair on his body), began to further mutate.  The tufts of fur became more like fur, covering more of his bodies.  The orientation of his arms changed so at to be more like legs, making him walk on all fours, only able to stand on two legs for brief periods.  His mouth extended a bit into a snout, and his fangs enlarged.  Likewise, his mentality regressed to the level of the animals he resembled.

 

By the time he had reached the forests of British Columbia, he had gone from stealing food from homes and stores, to scavenging from garbage cans and hunting small game.  Although he did not consciously do so, his instincts kept him moving toward Vancouver, though for what purpose he did not know.

 

He eventually reached the forests of British Columbia, and took up residence there.  His former life virtually forgotten, he lived in idyllic bliss.  When humans would camp in his region, he would raid their food stores in the dead of the night, no matter what steps they took to protect the food, leaving the campers bewildered.  He easily evaded hunters who, like the campers, were mystified by the strange tracks, leading to resurgence in Bigfoot stories.

 

Kyle’s downfall came when Tiboldt’s Circus, a small traveling circus took up residence for a few days in a nearby campsite.  The carnival’s next gig near Vancouver wasn’t for a couple weeks, so they parked their trailers and trucks and waited patiently.  The influx of people and, more importantly, their food, attracted Kyle’s attention fairly quickly.  Staying at a safe distance and observing for a few days, his nose finally got the better of him on the fourth night.  He snuck in when he didn’t see or smell anyone nearby, and quickly made his way to the trash cans outside the mess hall, which were nearly overflowing with thrown-out food.  Kyle quickly began digging through the trash, losing himself in the abundance of delights before him.

 

That is why he never sensed several figures approach from behind him.  Just as he found a large pork chop bone with over half the meat still on it, a lasso fell over his chest and arms and was pulled tight.

 

Kyle immediately tried to snap the rope, but somehow it resisted his greater than human strength.

 

“Woah, thar, now,” the figure holding the rope said.  “That rope was designed to hold Spider-Man.  I don’t think you’ll—whoop!!”

 

Gibney, unable to break his bonds, attempted to flee.  Since his front limbs were bound, he stood up and began to bolt toward the woods, dragging the man holding the rope with him.

 

Another of the shadowy figures grabbed the end of the rope just before it was beyond his reach, and Gibney was forced to a sudden halt and with a yelp, was pulled onto his back.

 

“I gotcha, Montana,” the figure said.  He was a massive brute of a man, able to keep Gibney from pulling the rope from him with only one hand.

 

The man who had lassoed Kyle, Montana, got to his feet.  He took off his cowboy hat and shook the dust off of it.

 

“Thanks, Ox.  That varmint’s a lot stronger than he looks.  Good thing you are as strong as you look.”

 

More members of the circus began appearing, shining flashlights and illuminating the creature at the end of the rope.  Kyle was still recovering from having the wind knocked out of him, but was still able to stagger to his feet.  As the lights shined on him, he snarled a warning.

 

“That don’t look like no Bigfoot to me,” Ox said slowly, still gripping the rope.  He was expecting Kyle to try to pull away again, so was surprised when Kyle suddenly leaped toward him.  Luckily, a third man, literally half the size of Ox and wearing a boater-style straw hat, leapt between the two.  Almost faster than a human should be, the small man planted both feet into Kyle’s gut, again knocking the wind out of him.

 

“Good work, Fancy Dan,” a new arrival said.  “I shall take over from here.”

 

The new arrival came forward into the light.  He was a tall, thin man with graying hair and a pencil-thin mustache.  He was shirtless, having been awakened from sleep, and held a tophat that had a series of concentric circles on the front.  He placed the hat on his head and approached Kyle.

 

“Whatever you say, Ringmaster,” Fancy Dan said, staying behind the tall man, but close enough in case Kyle were to attach again.

 

The man, apparently unafraid of the animal in front of him, began talking in a soothing voice to Kyle.  As he did so, the circles on his hat began to swirl and sparkle.

 

“Relax, my friend.  Relax.  It is no mistake we camped here.  We had heard the recent rumors of Bigfoot here and thought if we could capture the creature, it would be a boon for our struggling circus.  While you may not be what we expected to find, you are indeed something unique.  Now sleep, and when you awake, we shall take good care of you.”

 

Kyle found himself growing more and more drowsy, attempting to again get up but quickly stumbling and falling to the ground.  While he did not understand what The Ringmaster was saying, the soothing tone seemed to fill his world with warmth, and he fell into a deep stupor.

 

Ringmaster took his hat off and turned to several nearby workers.

 

“Take the creature and put it in the cage.  Have someone watch it at all times with the tranquilizer gun ready.  Now,” and he turned to Fancy Dan, Montana, and Ox.  “You three performed admirably.  It was a lucky stroke for me that you ‘Enforcers’ needed a place to lay low while the police in America looked for you just as my circus was going on a Canadian tour.”

 

Fancy Dan lit up a cigarette.  “Yeah, you’ve treated us pretty well, Ringy.  It’s been a pretty good fit for the both of us.”

 

That was how Kyle Gibney, aka Wild Child, found himself as a sideshow attraction for the past several weeks in the Circus of Crime.  Repeated exposures to the Ringmaster’s hypnotic tophat kept him relatively docile and it seemed Kyle would spend the rest of his days a spectacle, more beast than man.

 

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NEXT ISSUE:  Join us for Alpha Flight #76 where the spotlight falls on Shaman.  When he retreats deep into the woods, far from any semblance of civilization, will he find the answers he searches for, or something far, far more sinister?

 

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FLIGHT PLANS

 

Welcome to the new era of Canada’s main super-hero team, Alpha Flight! 

 

For those of you not in the know, let me introduce myself.  I am Jason Eberly.  I wrote the first 14 issues of Black Widow and about a half-dozen issues of Daredevil here at M2K before personal issues forced me to take a several year sabbatical.  Well, recently the ol’ writing bug began to hit me, and I found myself peeking in on Marvel 2000.  Then I saw David Golightly’s great e-mail on the Heroes list, “Writing A Blank #1” (check it out on the forums here!) where I discovered Alpha Flight currently did not having a writer (as Gregg Epstein’s epic 75 issue run).  Immediately my brain started swirling with plot ideas and I quickly submitted a proposal to Cory “w00t!” Wiegel.  To my delight, it was eventually accepted and now here we are!

 

Now for what I have planned for the next eleven issues or so.  You’ll already notice that I’m taking the title in quite a different direction than the talented Mr. Epstein went.  Not because I didn’t like his direction, just the opposite in fact.  I loved the chaotic roller-coaster ride he took this title on.  His Alpha Flight was almost an army, with tons of characters constantly coming and going.  His tenure almost embodied the saying, “The only constant is change”.  This is also why I’ve separated his run from mine by placing it an undetermined time after Gregg’s run ended.  This enables me to get my stuff rolling without having to spend too much time repositioning the characters.

 

Now my Alpha Flight will be, as you may have noticed, a pared-down team.  It is also no coincidence that my team is very close to the original.  Alpha Flight #1 was the first Marvel title that I began collecting with #1 way back in ’83 (yes, I am that old) and collected it until the first volume ended in ’94.  I have a very soft spot for those early issues and the characters in them.  So I decided to focus on them (for now) with a couple others.  Wild Child I’ve always been a fan of, and Witchfire, who is a replacement for Snowbird, who’s currently slated to appear in Ed Ainsworth’s Elementals (if you haven’t checked that title out yet, go read it immediately after finishing this!  You’ll thank me for it.)

 

You’ll notice that there wasn’t a whole lot of action in this Annual.  It was more an issue for me to set most of the players up on the board, so to speak.  We know what their current statuses are, though with some we may not know how they got there or what exactly their situations are.  These questions will be answered as each of the main characters get their own spotlight issue in the first eight issues of the run.

 

Some of you may have counted that I only had six chapters above (plus the opening).  Well, that’s because the final two spotlight issues will focus on a couple villains whom I don’t want to reveal quite yet.  They’ll be a big factor in the final three issues of my first arc, a slam-bang slugfest.

 

So I hope you’ll be entertained over the course of my run, and if you’ve read this far into my ramblings (and it probably is rambling…I’m writing this at 5:40 on a Sunday morning!), I’d love to hear your reactions, whether they be positive or negative.

 

So, until next time, I remain…

 

~Jason Eberly

September 12, 2010