1975: The year it all went exactly as it went the year before

    It was there in Wonderland that the esoteric weapons were being tested.  
The signposts and the fence that surrounded the area read that the land was 
owned and operated by the Mithras Group, a subsidiary of Nothing Corp.  
    Wonderland was a funny place, where reality tended to not be as it would 
appear to be normally.
    The current golden-child of Wonderland was Dr. Earl Carrick.  What his 
doctorate was in, exactly, was a close held secret of his.  A young man in 
his mid twenties, he was generally considered by his colleagues in Wonderland 
to be slightly more mad than necessary.
    Wonderland was where all good little mad scientists went just before they 
died.
    And where bad little soldiers go after they've lost themselves.  
    "Harumph," grunted out General Gabriel Walters, the army's man for most 
of his life.  Gen. Walters was an older man in his late sixties, tall and 
thin with a near-palatable aura of deadly competence about him.  He glared at 
Carrick.  "What the hell are we doing here?"
    Here was a large, exposed dome of what looked to be clear plastic right 
outside the testing grounds.  
    "If even half of what you say is true -and I'm giving you the benefit of 
the doubt- then this bomb of yours is going to rather handily destroy this 
dome of yours and tears us all to shreds," Gen. Walters said.  He briefly 
wished that he hadn't stopped smoking so that he could wave a smelly stogy 
under Carrick's nose.  "And as much as I relish the thought of you dying 
horribly, I don't wish it to happen to me."
    "Please don't worry, General," Earl said with a rather nervous half-smile 
that seemed to perpetually adorn his face.  The General's anger became tinged 
with scorn.  Carrick lacked the essential toughness to get through life in 
his opinion.  Of course, he thought briefly and with secret amusement, this 
was why he was so valuable to Wonderland; this sensitivity to life was what 
had made Carrick into the rather twisted little maniac that he was.  No one 
but a lunatic could dedicate his life to finding new and horrific ways to 
kill other people by the millions.  He tuned back to Carrick, as much as he 
detested doing so.  "My bomb, will not kill us.  Rather, the bomb blast will 
ignore the dome and everything inside it.  Trust me."
    The Telekinetic Bomb was what they were testing today.  A programmed, 
modified human brain inside a fusion bomb that converted the electromagnetic 
pulse of the bomb into a telekinetic wave front that disassembled everything 
within a set radius.  Preliminary testing had shown that the brain was fried 
after channeling that much power but that didn't matter.  There were more to 
be had, after all.
    "Then let's get this over with," Gen. Walters ordered.  Carrick nodded 
then went over to the control console with the other technicians.  The 
countdown began.


    She had been trying to find religion.  That was why she was in the 
desert.  But now she had enough of soul searching and was just trying to get 
out.
    "Shit," she muttered as she looked at the high, barbed fence.  "A 
spook-factory."  That was what her network of weird friends called places 
like the one in front of her.  Places that not just the weird, as a world 
with villains and heroes occasionally was, but the downright mind-bendingly 
horrific.  Of course, the government ran those places; or, at least, the 
things that used governments as puppets.  
    She had to go in and see.
    "Ah, man, I'm gonna kill myself doing this sort of thing," she muttered 
just before she took out her wire cutters.

    "Um, Sir, um," stuttered a nervous technicians.  "There's someone on the 
testing grounds.  A, uh, civilian."
    The General stared at the tech for a moment, then smiled.  "Good.  
There's too many civilians anyway."
    Carrick stared at the General, shocked.  "My god, you're just going to 
let that person die when you can stop it?"
    General Walters stared at Carrick cynically and with a great deal of 
contempt.  "I knew that you were insane, but I didn't know that you were self 
delusional.  What the hell is it that you think you're doing here?  You're 
not making the world a better place.  You're making it scarier and a hell of 
a lot more deadly.  We're not only going to let that thing out there be 
killed, we're going to watch with a great deal of interest."  He smiled.
    Earl's mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water.  Finally, 
he said, "You're a monster."
    "Are you any different?  After all, it wasn't my mind that found it so 
interesting using living human brains as components in a bomb."
    He only thought for a brief instant, and then his face firmed.  With a 
look of great determination, he ran towards the sealed entrance.  "You're 
right," he said behind him as he hastily grabbed a protective suit made from 
the same material as the dome, "I'm no different from you.  Yet.  Here's 
where I prove that I'm still somewhat human."  With that, he closed the door 
and jumped into a jeep, flooring it towards the intruder.
    No one said anything for a few moments.  Then:
    "We have all his files and notes in the computer, right?" the General 
asked.
    "Y-yes," answered a technician.
    The General smirked.  "Fantastic."


    He was insane, that was the only explanation.
    "I'm going to die, I'm going to die," Earl muttered to himself as he 
drove madly.  "Why the hell am I doing this?"
    Ah, yes, guilt, that's why. 
    "The great motivator," he muttered.  Then, he spotted the great trail of 
dust that was preceded by a motorcycle.  He drove in front of the intruder 
and noticed vaguely that the form was rather too . . . bumpy to be male.  He 
skidded his jeep in front of her and when the motorcycle stopped, he ran to 
her.  
    "The hell are you doing?" Lee screamed when Earl grabbed her off the 
motorcycle and started her running.
    "Bomb blast . . . kill you horrifically," gasped out Earl.  He needed to 
exercise more often, for this small exertion had him panting like a dog in 
heat.  
    "Shit," Lee muttered.  She started running.  "I knew that I was going to 
die.
    "I -gasp- know that feeling," Earl commented.  "Here, put this suit on 
and jump into that trench."
    They jumped into the trench, and ducked low.
    "Thanks," Lee said rather grudgingly.  Then, a thought occurred to her.  
"Hey, how are you going to survive the bomb?"
    Carrick simply stared at her.  "Oh shit," he muttered, horrified.

    "Zero."

    He couldn't quite remember his name.  He was sure that it was an ordinary 
name, really.  Something like 'John' or 'James' or some other name starting 
possibly with a 'J'.  He was sure that he had a life before the drugs and the 
music and the cold metal tables.  A life before his enhanced brain was taken 
out of hi body, his ability to go insane cut away, and then placed next to a 
bomb.  A life before the waiting.
    Rather impossibly, he heard the ticking of the countdown, then noticed a 
great light.
    Fiat Lux.

    "Sure is pretty."

    The wave front of the telekinetic bomb moved at the speed of thought.  
Before he had a chance to utter a single shot scream, the edge of bomb caught 
him.  His could feel his eyes bleeding light and his ears music.  He could 
feel the soundless scream that he hadn't the chance to finish pouring out of 
his mouth in blocks of liquid letters.  He felt everything so well.  
    Lee simply tried not to go insane.

    "Well, I have to give the little bastard his due, he made a wonderful 
weapon," the General said.  "Ah, well, he would have died sooner or later 
anyway.  Too bad about that jeep."

    Lee looked up and was glad to be alive.  It was as dark as midnight, and 
she could feel the electricity in the air as the free floating atoms settled 
back down into molecules and the incredible heat it all produced.  Rather 
shockingly, the man who had saved her life was still breathing.  She walked 
towards his fallen form and shook him.  After a few moments, he stirred, and 
stared at her through odd eyes.
    "I am the walrus, coo-coo ka-choo," he quoted.  Then fainted.
    "Ah, great."

    "I hate running for my life," Lee commented idly as they ran for their 
lives.
    "Done it often?" Earl asked casually.  
    The endless corridors of the Red King base flew behind them.
    "Often enough to know that I hate it."  She was about to laugh in her own 
slightly bitter sort of way when she noticed that Earl had stopped.  "You 
know, when one is running for one's life, stopping isn't really a good idea."
    "Running like foxes won't get us anywhere.  We have to use a bit of 
cunning."  He went against a door and tried the handle.  It was locked.
    "No surprise there," Lee said.
    "I . . . think that I'm getting a hang of these new powers of mine.  
Here, cover your ears."  Lee promptly did so.  "((Open))," Earl whispered, 
his voice taking on that odd tenor that wasn't quite of this world and the 
door did open.  "Huh.  Worked."
    It was a tunnel that sloped slightly downwards.  They followed it and 
eventually found themselves inside a huge underground facility.
    "Looks like you found the secret passageway," Lee said.  "And right into 
a mad scientist's lair, at that.  Good on you!"
    "I remember reading about this place.  This was the facility that Red 
King was built upon.  It was a sort of weirdness think-tank just after the 
war.  A sort of proto-Wonderland." 
    "That's nice," Lee muttered as she looked around.  "Then there must be 
some sort of weapon around here that we can still use."
    "Yes, probably."
    "Then help me look."
    Soon enough, tra la, tra la . . . 


    "Shit," muttered the General.  "They went into a Rabbit Hole."
    "General, I've accessed a recorder that picked up their conversation."
    "Play it and get me five Cheshire units to follow them."
    "Yes, sir."

TRANSCRIPT:

KELLEN, L: How about this?
CARRICK, E: One's as good as another, I suppose.  I can't seem to find 
anything that tells me what all the stuff in here is.
KELLEN, L: Alright.  Now . . . just open it up with your new and nifty 
psychic powers, oh grand Messiah.
CARRICK, E: Funny.  Here goes.  Remember to cover your ears.  "((------))"

END

    "What the HELL was that?" screamed the General angrily.  The speakers 
blew, as did most of the console.  Electrical fires sparked.
    "I . . . I have no idea," stuttered the technician.  He sweated nervously 
and stared at the General's hand as it rested on the butt of his holstered 
firearm.
    "Find.  Out," he uttered, each word a statement of holy fury.


    "It's a . . . robot?" Lee said, turning the statement into a question.
    "Nothing like I've ever seen.  It's nothing like a Stack or even a," he 
went on, with great reverence, "Horton.  Nor, I don't think, a bastard 
version."
    "Yeah, whatever," Lee said.  She struggled to put words to what she felt 
from the design of the robot.  "But it's . . . just plain weird."
    "How extraordinary.  You've completely bowled me over with your way with 
adjectives."
    "Hey, shut up, you," she retorted, proving him right.  "No, it's just 
that . . . I don't think that this was made on Earth."
    "Alien, you mean?  A likely possibly.  Earth is no stranger to 
extra-terrestrial influence.  In fact, Earth itself wouldn't be what it is 
without extra-terrestrials."
    "I'll really have to introduce you to my friends.  So . . . start it up 
and see what happens."
    "What if it, you know, goes berserk and tries to kill us?"
    "Or it might not.  I guess this is one of those fate-deciding things, 
isn't it?  Will we live, will we die?"
    "Christ, you're fearless," Earl said not without some envy.
    "Nah, I just hide it better.  You're the one that should be fearless, 
what with your power and all."
    ""Don't know how to control it, yet.  So I guess I'll have to be as 
fearful as the next man.  Here goes, don't know if it'll work.  ((Work))."
    And it did.

    "I."

    The General listened on, another microphone, sensitive enough to pick up 
words from the entirety of the underground facility, having been found.
    He made a mental note to get his uniform cleaned of the blood.

TRANSCRIPT:

UNKNOWN: I.  Huh.
KELLEN, L: Is, is that thing talking?
CARREL, E: Probably.  And notice the first word it used: "I".  It's probably 
self-aware.
KELLEN, L: You mean it's alive?
CARREL, E: Sentient, yes.  Not all that surprising, really.  Hello?  Do you 
have a name?
UNKNOWN: 'Course I have a name.  God, my head is killing me.  God, how much 
did I have to drink last night?  I am on the bender of all benders.  Name, 
name, what the hell is my name?
KELLEN, L: Does that sound like typical robot-talk to you?
CARREL, E: Wouldn't know it if I heard it.  But this is far beyond all my 
expectations.
UNKNOWN: Where the hell are my hands!  My hands!  Awwwww, god!  My hands!
CARREL, E: Calm down, calm down.  You have hands.  See?
UNKNOWN: They're not my hands!  They're metal!  Where the hell are my hands!
KELLEN, L: Aw, god, he's going berserk!  I knew that he was going to do that!
CARREL, E: Here, I'm going to try something that I don't know will work.  
KELLEN, L: God, I feel like one-third of 'see-no, hear-no, speak-no'.
CARREL, E: Ahem.

INTERRUPTED

    The technician huffed slightly as he thanked god he had gotten the bug 
off.  He had heard what had happened to the last technician that had allowed 
this.  Racked by fear of what would happen should the electrical system burst 
in flames again or if they had missed something extremely important, the 
technician tentatively turned back on the microphone.

CONTINUE:

UNKNOWN: Wow.  
KELLEN, L: Think you went too far.
CARREL, E: Yeah.  Shoot.
UNKNOWN: Ok . . . I'm feeling . . . better.  Damn.  I'm a robot, a robot.  I 
don't think I can take this.
CARREL, E: You weren't always a robot?
UNKNOWN: Nah.  I'm a patriot, damn it.  I'm one of the good guys.  This is 
supposed to happen to, I don't know, communists.
KELLEN, L: I have this sudden urge to strangulate him.  He sounds like my . . 
. dad.
CARREL, E: Quiet.  Could you tell us who you are?
UNKNOWN: Sure thing.  The name's Mason Clark.  And I'm guessing this isn't 
fifty-four any more, right?  
CARRE, E: No.  Sorry.
UNKNOWN: Damn.  Why can't I feel more upset about this?
CARREL, E: I've, err, sort of made you unable to do that.
UNKNOWN: Swell.  What year is it, then?
CARREL, E: June, nineteen seventy-five.  
CLARK, M: Jeeze Louise.  Twenty-one years?  Well, that's a fine mess.  
Twenty-one years into the future and stuck in a robot body.  This is like one 
of them pulp magazines.  
CARREL, E: Can you tell us your story?
KELLEN, L: Hey!  We don't have the time to do that!  We could have government 
spooks on our asses any second now!
CLARK, M: What are you, girlie, some sort of commie?  Huh?  Are ya a pinko?
KELLEN, L: Hey, shut it!  I don't have to take your crap!  
CARREL, E: Stop!  Both of you!  She's right, they may be coming here, soon.  
C'mon, let's go, unless you want to stay here?
CLARK, M: . . . Hell, why not.  I owe you two for waking me up.

 
    And the robot monologued . . . 
    "My name is Mason Clark.  I was an agent of a government agency.  I 
fought the communist agents, Nazi leftovers, and . . . strange things.  In 
'54, I was volunteered.
    "Two years before, something fell from south, south-west off the coast of 
California.  People thought it was a bomb from Russia.  We went to Defense 
Condition Three.  Then cooler heads prevailed when it became clear that it 
had not exploded.  Divers went there to retrieve and disarm it.
    "It was not a bomb.
    "Inside a metallic cocoon was this: a suit of armor from an alien galaxy. 
 We didn't understand the systems, really.  So some idiot decided that it 
would be better if someone just . . . put it on.  They chose me.
    "I . . . did it.  And it started to eat me alive.  I . . . think I 
unconsciously activated some of the weapons systems 'cause in my panic and 
pain people started . . . dying.  I finally was able to shut myself down.  
And here we are.  In a dump.  Chased by invisible men.  What a weird day this 
has been."



    He was in a dark place, was the General, a dark and lonely place.  A 
place fit for dying.
    "I . . . I have failed," he said through a suddenly dry mouth.
    "Failed in what?"
    "Wonderland has been compromised.  A scientist, an intruder, and an old 
project has escaped."
    "This is a . . . bad precedent.  I am certain this shall not be repeated?
    "Yes!  I shall use all the resources at hand at repairing the damage!"
    "No.  Only a small amount of the free resources may you use.  I will not 
have operations disturbed because of some . . . minor difficulties.  
Understood?"
    "Y-yes."
    "Good," said the king of the world.


    "She's a . . . well, she's an old girlfriend," Earl explained 
uncomfortably.  
    "And how'd you part?" Clark said somewhere deep within his vast amount of 
clothes and over-coats.
    "Um.  Not too badly," Earl said a tad nervously.  "But, um, just don't 
freak her out."
    The robot and the dusty teenager stared at the super-human.
    "Who the hell am I kidding?"
    "Not us."
    He sighed.


    "Mind if I talk to you a bit?" Lee asked Earl perfunctorily as she 
dragged him to a corner.  
She then whispered harshly, "What the hell are you thinking?  She's the 
daughter of the General!  You moron!"
    "But . . . she and the General aren't on the best of . . . ok, ok!  She's 
a good person!  Stop looking at me like that!" Earl shrieked out quietly as 
he cringed away from her horrible stare.
    "So, you're a robot," Bethany Walters said to Clark.  "What's that like?"
    "Robot-man.  Or Man-bot.  And it's alright if you don't mind not being 
able to open a can of soda," Clark said.  "There are some advantages.  For 
instance, I'm a machine in bed."
    "My god, I can't believe you just said that.  That's so corny."
    "Yeah, well, my dialogue is a bit rusty."
    "Like you."
    "Now that's corny, and obvious to boot."
    They each sat back in amicable silence.  Then:
    "Say," Bethany said as she looked over at the corner, "what's the deal 
with those two?"
    "What, are you jealous?" Clark asked teasingly.
    "Of course not.  I'm just wondering about whether they were, you know.  
Um, you know."
    "That's absurd.  Not only is she under-aged, Earl there's a fairy.  
Aren't you a fairy, Earl?"
    "Shut up!" Earl yelled back.
    "Oh, then you are screwing the greaser over there?"
    "Shut up!" Lee yelled back.
    "Guess they are," Clark said.  Bethany smiled.


    "Here," Clark said to the others.  "My friend should still be here."
    He opened the door to the bar and walked inside.
    "I know that I've said this before," Lee said as she wrinkled her nose 
from the smell.  "But who the hell do you know in England?  You've been in a 
box for twenty years, for god's sake."
    "Trust me," Clark said.  "He's here and he's still alive.  If anybody is, 
he is."
    It wasn't a bad bar, really.  It was warm and dry, and not without a bit 
of charm.  However, they had arrived at was probably the anti-happy hour.  
    Sometimes you just have to be depressed.
    "Ah, there he is," Clark said as he pointed at a midnight black corner of 
the bar which held a booth like a Swiss bank to Jewish gold.
    Threading their way carefully, they went over to the dark booth.
    "Hi, Jack," said Clark.  The miserable pile of hair and clothes rumbled 
slightly but stilled again.  "Get up, you've got company."
    Then a most horrible face stared up at them.
    "'Scuse my manners," burped out the horrible face.  "You've caught me in 
my decade-long bender."  He squinted at them.  "And you are?"
    "It's me, Jack, it's Clark.  Clark Mason."
    Jack squinted at him.  "You've become some sort of alien robot, Clark.  
Good for you.  You were bland little paranoid bit of a man before and now 
you've gone and gotten color."
    Clark nodded.  If anyone else had said that, he would have probably shot 
at him with his many awful guns.  Instead he nodded and turned back to the 
others.  "This here's my old friend, Jack.  Jack, this is Earl, Lee, and 
Bethany.  Say hello to the nice drunken man."
    "Hello," they said.
    Jack lifted himself and leaned back onto the booth instead of the table.  
"Hello," he said right back at them.
    "Jack here's the world's oldest Englishman."  Clark turned back.  "Say, 
Jack, what was your full name again?"
    "Wait, let me try to remember," Jack said as he rummaged around his 
memory.  "No, that's the fellow I butchered in Amsterdam . . . I'm married?  
Oh, that's right, I'm married.  Umm . . . right, there it is; Sir John 
Smythe.  But just call me Jack Smithers.  Everyone does."  He grinned at them.


    It was fun to be alone again, Lee thought to herself.  Solitude was a 
good thing she tried to convince herself.  Gives one time to sort out one's 
thoughts. 
    "I don't need 'em," she muttered as the desert winds flowed over her 
helmet.  "Just me and my bike doing the Easy Rider thing."  Where the hell 
was America, anyhow?  Ah, there it was.  With the motorcycle thrumming 
underneath her and the road taking her towards the sun, she felt truly at 
peace, if only for a little while.

    A little while later . . . 
    It was a dream that woke her up.  Typical of her life, really.
    "Great," she muttered, "I suppose that this was some sort of prophetic 
thing that shows that I'm the next Cosmic Madonna, or something."  She got up 
and started walking.  After all, what else could you do but walk towards 
destiny?
    "You can fight it, that's what," she answered herself.  She gripped her 
gun tighter.  "And with Mr. Happy, I'm going to seriously wound whatever it 
is that's in the cave."
    That was basically what the dream was about, destiny and the cave.  The 
cave leading to a higher calling in life, perhaps referring to Merlin and his 
cave.  Cave men?  Paintings on a cave?  Writing on the wall?
    "Oh, god," Lee groaned as she realized how silly she sounded in her own 
head.  "What the hell was in that drink?" she asked, referring to the 
celebratory drink to her freedom she had in a rather nice little dive.
    She continued onward, ready to meet destiny with a gun.  If that didn't 
work, she would probably have to fight dirty.
    There was an eerie glow around the cave when she arrived, muttering and 
twitching with her gun.  The night air was crisp, cool, and ideal for the 
mind-altering microwave transmissions she was sure were coming from within 
the cave.  "I won't have them trying to fry my brain to submission," she 
giggled out rather insanely.  "Let fate come at with eyes blinded and hands 
tied to a tree!  Let destiny take me by the heels and feel the bite of my 
stilettos.  If I wore stilettos.  Which I don't, but that's not the point.  
Stilettos point, that is."  She fired into the cave mouth wildly.  "Take 
that, Empire!  I'm not defined by my opposition!  I defy you 'cause I wanna!  
Get thee behind me, Satan, I like it from behind!"
    She collapsed before she could enter.  
    And "it" came out of the cave and went to Lee.
    To describe "it" is like trying to describe God to produce; it may have 
the eyes to see and the ears to hear but the brain's all boiled up.  Suffice 
it to say that "it" was a totally alien idea from somewhere sideways of the 
Multi-verse and it had taken a liking to Lee, or, more accurately, was drawn 
to Lee, for "it" had no personality of its own.  It was more likened to a 
natural force than to an energy being.
    It went into Lee, and they were one, with all the sparkly colors and 
colored sparks that were dramatically necessary for this sort of thing.  It 
should be pointed out that Lee was still Lee, only a tad more so and with a 
bit of sauce.

    "I don't know," Lee said as she chewed on some dry toast.  "It's alright, 
I guess.  I don't feel so damned useless, anyway.  It was a bit weird at 
first.  Felt like, what I would imagine, as the weirdest trip in the world.  
Kept on muttering to myself, 'It wasn't me, it was the one-armed man.'  But, 
yeah, it's alright."  She frowned at the toast and it instantly turned into 
free-floating molecules.  "It has its ups and downs."
    "So," Bethany asked, "when can we expect to see you in some skin-tight 
spandex?"
    Lee blushed slightly, much to the surprise of the others.  "Shut up, 
you," she said without her usual venom.
    "I wonder when I get some powers?" Bethany asked idly.  She didn't really 
want those kinds of powers, really.  She felt that her natural abilities more 
than made up for it.  
    Earl sat back and sighed.  



THIS WAS NOT A STORY
THIS WAS SNIPPETS OF STORIES, SOME LARGE THAN OTHERS

Data Files:

Name: Carrel, Earl
Age: 28
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Varies
Power: Appears to be a Windows Version of Psionic powers, may not be possibly 
what it seems
Origin: His life before, as he would tell anyone, was boring and 
stereotypical.  Brilliant as a young boy, he went to college at an early age 
and soon gained a doctorate in something.  He then dickered around with his 
life until Wonderland tapped him for research and development.  Having not 
developed his philosophy towards life all that well, he readily fell into 
designing the oddest of weaponry.  After a close encounter with his 
Telekinetic Bomb, while trying to save a young girl named Lee from its deadly 
effect, he gained his power and was soon on the run from the mysterious 
forces that ran Wonderland.  He finds life to be a hell of a lot more 
interesting now.
Personality: Varies from moment to moment.  Not exactly stable but not 
exactly unstable either.

Name: Kellen, Lee
Age: 16
Hair: Dirty blonde
Eyes: Gray
Power: None at first, but can now fly and manipulate Cosmic Power for various 
effects
Origin: The daughter of slightly burned-out hippies who had died in a 
slightly funny boating accident, she was "raised" by the friends of her 
parents to become a slightly irascible and slightly paranoid young girl.  At 
the age of fifteen, she set out on the road, taking odd jobs to support 
herself (though she had some monies stored away), mostly out of the usual 
teenage wanderlust.  There she purposely went into Wonderland to find out 
what's what.  Then she was rescued by Carrel from his bomb, and found herself 
on the run.  Later, when the heat had quieted down and, temporarily, the 
group went their separate ways, she once again found herself in the desert 
and was soon merged with an alien idea that gave her powers.  She too finds 
her life a lot more interesting now.
Personality: Irascible and quick to anger but usually just a normal, cynical 
girl.

Name: Mason, Clark
Age: 63
Hair: None
Eyes: White
Powers: None as such, but his armor body is able to manipulate energies both 
within and without for weaponry as well as flight and defense.  Also has 
enhanced sense as well as other nifty mechanical stuff, such as assimilating 
technologies.
Origin: An agent of the Government and scourge to the red tide, he was an 
enthusiastic crusher of Un-American ideals.  Soon enough, he was volunteered 
to put on an alien suit of armor that ate away at him and, in his pain, 
killed many people before he was shut down.  Then he was awakened twenty 
years later and now follows Lee and Earl around because he has nothing else 
to do with his time. 
Personality: Coping with not having an organic body, he deals with it with a 
sense of humor.  Still carries around some vestiges of his idealism as well 
as the dogma of the democratic party.
     
On Names:
I actually researched names for this, at least for my original characters.
One of the titles of Robert the Bruce (you remember, that guy in Braveheart) 
was "the Earl of Carrel".
There is a pop-singer, rather obscure I think, whose name was Rickie Lee 
Jones.  Richard means "powerful", as does Kellen.
Walter means "Woods or Army General".  Thaddeus means, "gift of god", while 
Gabriel means "god is my strength".


Regis Mundane is very roughly, King of the World in bastardized Latin.
Jack Smithers and Clark Mason are actual Marvel Characters.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Accurate impartial advice on everything from laptops to tablesaws. 
http://clickhere.egroups.com/click/1701



-- Check out your group's private Chat room
-- http://www.egroups.com/ChatPage?listName=xxy&m=1