Rick Tyler, the superhero known as Hourman, couldn’t believe his eyes. A man was floating in the air 100 feet away from him, a man he had always considered one of the Earth’s greatest heroes. The man was clad in black leather with a faded stylized bat-like symbol across his left breast.

Superman had just killed an innocent man.

People were going through a lineup into what appeared to be a detention center with barbed wire fences. Armed guards were placed at intervals along the line, each wearing black suits similar to Superman’s with silver helmets obscuring their features. One of the prisoners had tried to escape the line…and paid with his life at the hands of Superman.

No, thought Hourman, This isn’t Superman. This whole situation is a farce. A farce made by the Time Trapper.

“Yes, it is.” The Time Trapper came from the shadows in the wooded area where Hourman crouched out of sight of the others beyond. He waved his tattered hand. “They cannot sense our presence…at least, not at the moment.”

Hourman whirled on the Trapper. “What have you done, Trapper? What is all this?!”

“This,” replied the Trapper, “Is Earth, the same day and time you were when we first met. I’ve just made an…adjustment.” He laughed quietly to himself.

“You mean killing that one man changed history into…this?*”

(* Last Issue – Flashback Mike)

“Time is a fickle mistress, Rick Tyler. The slightest change to a thread changes the whole tapestry. In this case…a very important thread.”

“Fine,” said Hourman. “You’ve made your point. Change time back.”

“Ah,” replied the Time Trapper, “I think not. If you want history changed back to what it was…do it yourself. You have the power to do so.”

“But I don’t know how!”

The Trapper disappeared again, with his voice fading as he did so. “Then I guess you had better be a fast learner…”

“Trapper!”, yelled Hourman. “Come back!”

A rush of air came over Hourman. Instantly he found himself hundreds of feet in the air, his neck gripped by what felt like a steel vise. It was Superman.

“I don’t know who the Trapper is,” he said maliciously, “But since your lifespan can now be measured in seconds, I don’t suppose it really matters, does it?”

Faux-DC Presents

Issue 9

Time’s Shadow

Part Two

“Deja Vu”

By Mike Hintze

Edited by Clay “Mighty Miry” Arceneaux and “Rip Roarin’” Ralph Angelo, Jr.

Hourman struggled in the Kryptonian’s grip. Superman moved his thumb under Hourman’s jaw and began to apply pressure. He’s going to pop my head off like a flower, thought Hourman. He had to think fast…

…fast think to had He. Hourman thought, flower a like off head my pop to going He’s. pressure apply to began and jaw Hourman’s under thumb his moved Superman. Grip Kryptonian’s the in struggled Hourman…

Hourman found himself back on the ground where the Time Trapper had left him. I’ve reversed time again, he thought. He was getting more intuitive with manipulating his time abilities…but he had a lot farther to go if what the Time Trapper said was true. No time to waste thinking, he thought, Because I’ve got about 5 seconds before he comes at me again.

He turned to see a black blur approaching him. The Trapper thinks I have some untapped ability? Here’s to learning on the fly then.

Hourman concentrated…and the black blur began to slow down and become more distinct. He continued to concentrate and Superman continued to slow down until he was moving at a crawl through the air. Hourman began to feel himself losing his concentration, and moved away from Superman’s path. His movement was sluggish; the air felt like molasses; but he found he moved faster than Superman. Steel had theorized about Hourman’s time abilities and had suggested his concentrating to affect time’s flow. John Henry’s theory was that Hourman was a living chroniton particle emitter, and that he may be able to mentally affect those particles for various effects. He had planned to practice this at some point soon…now he couldn’t learn soon enough.

His concentration slipped finally, and Superman crashed into the Earth where Hourman once stood. Hourman was now fifteen yards away from the new crater where Superman landed.

He ran.

So, a new player has arrived, and handled the Kryptonian quite well, if only for the moment. The ruler of the Earth shook his head in annoyance. Since assuming power eight years ago, he had effectively locked out this time period from any sort of chronal invasion. There was that pathetic incursion by that so-called Legion from the future, but they didn’t last very long. He had even been able to assimilate the technology they had brought with them to further his own aims. It had taken some work, but even the Coluan had talked after some encouragement. Since then, there had not been a single successful time travel completed to his present time codex. Until now.

He looked over his instrumentation to see if he could identify the nature of the chronitons emanating from this individual. He had catalogued and restrained every type of time travel device from Rip Hunter’s time machine to Von Doom’s platform, but this new person didn’t identify with any of those. This may merit further personal investigation should the Kryptonian fail…the likelihood of which was very small.

A snivelling man in violet robes entered. “Begging your pardon, milord Monarch, but the transmission from Thanagar has arrived and awaits you in your main chambers.”

Monarch’s armored form rose from his seat and turned to leave the room. “Thank you Desaad. I will be there momentarily.”

Hourman had run out of time. He had managed to change time’s flow several times now to avoid Superman, but the effort was draining him physically. He had found that after using his powers he needed to rest, as if his abilities needed a recharge. He had never taxed his limits as much as he had now, and wasn’t sure if he could make another timeslip without passing out.

He was crouched down behind some rubble, catching his breath. He had managed to put a hundred yards between him and Superman, but he knew it would be a matter of a few seconds before he was found again. He had to think fast.

The air around him shimmered, and Hourman found himself in total darkness. He felt around and touched nothing. He was standing on solid ground, but more than that he could not tell. Then his eyes were blinded by a bright light, which coalesced into six figures standing before him.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you must be Hourman,” said one of the figures. That voice sounds damn familiar. Hourman’s vision began to clear, and he was able to better make out the people before him.

One was a woman clad in form fitting armor with Superman’s ‘S’ logo on her chest and cape. She had a large hammer in her hand. Her helmet’s faceplate was lifted up, revealing her to be a stunning African American woman. Hourman thought she must have a relation to Steel. The others were still obscure from the shadows.

The woman approached him. “My name is Steelhammer. How did you get into the heart of the Gotham Slave Compound? There’s supposed to be an inhibitor field preventing teleportation in or out of it. How did you circumvent that?”

“Easy, Natasha,” said the first voice again. “Give him a second to catch his bearings. I suspect he’s as clueless as we are, aren’t you, Rick?”

Hourman stopped dead in his tracks. “How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you,” the voice said. “Your favorite color is blue. You prefer to paint in oil pastels. You broke your ankle when you were nine.”

Hourman hesitated. It can’t be…

The voice came out of the shadows. He wore a hooded yellow mask with a yellow cloak. His tunic was black with a red belt. Around his neck, he wore an hourglass as a pendant.

“Hello, son,” said Rex Tyler, the original Hourman. “It’s been a while.”

Monarch stood in front of a bank of viewscreens in his monitor chamber. Representatives from a dozen star systems were arrayed around him, all eyes on his purple and black armor. Only his eyes were visible through his faceplate. A stylized bat-symbol was emblazoned across the front.

“You all have my demands. I will expect your responses within 72 standard earth hours. That is all.” The viewscreens blinked off with his final words. He had delivered his ultimatums.

 Earth was conquered. There was one small pocket of resistance, the laughable Justice Society of America (laughable not only because of their small numbers, but also because America no longer existed). No nation still existed on the planet, save one: The Monarchy. Now that Earth was his in both name and spirit, Monarch had turned his attentions towards those realms outside of Earth, namely the advanced planets which Earth had enjoyed contact with before he had decided to rule it. He expected the Thanagarians and Khunds to balk and reject his offer of annexing their empires, and so assumed they would be the examples he would use to show the cost of defiance. The Khunds would be used as examples anyway, their belligerent society had no traits Monarch wished to adopt in expanding the empire of the Monarchy. The Thanagarians would be different, however. He would require all their supplies of Nth Metal first, then he would bring their flying cities crashing down around them.

Desaad entered his viewing chamber pretending insolence. He marveled at having such a manipulator as his personal aide. Desaad was always plotting, always scheming, but Monarch knew he would never try a direct assault on himself, and he monitored Desaad’s communications constantly. Monarch was the man who had utterly destroyed Darkseid and all the other New Gods. He had personally seen to it that Apokolips was shattered into mere fragments; New Genesis utterly destroyed. He had wiped out all opponents to the population of Earth with one exception: the alien races which had so callously attacked Earth in the past.

“Milord,” asked Desaad, “I trust the conference went well.”

“We’ll see,” replied Monarch. “I suspect the Khunds will be the examples we need to set after all. Be sure the payload is delivered there.”

“I have already taken the liberty of doing so, milord,” said Desaad. “It is cloaked in orbit over Khundia and awaits your instruction. It is quite hungry, milord. It will take no time at all for it to destroy Khundia, and its entire system.”

“Don’t waste my time with what I already know, idiot,” snapped Monarch. “My empire will come to encompass the known galaxy, and then no one will think, feel or otherwise unless I wish it. After that, we will need to discuss other realms to conquer.”

“I have some excellent suggestions, milord.”

Monarch smiled beneath his armor. “I thought you might.”

“Dad?”, exclaimed Rick. “You…you’re alive!”

“In the aged flesh, son,” replied Rex Tyler. He walked up to his son and they embraced. “I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

“Me, too,” said Rick. “How are you here? Has time changed that much?”

Rex held Rick out at arm’s length, the look of joy fading from his face. “I thought as much.” He turned to SteelHammer. “You were right, Natasha. He was the chronal aberration we detected. It was no coincidence.”

Rick was more confused. “Wait, yes I know I’m not from this time, but how did things get so bad? One old guy is murdered and this is what happens?”

Rex looked at his son. “What did you just say?” Rick related the entirety of his experiences over the last several hours. When he was done, Rex could only sit and nod sagely. The weight on his shoulders seemed to triple.

“Our lives,” he said, “Everything we fought for, was because of this Time Trapper toying with you? Rick, do you realize just what Monarch has done to us? To the world? Do you know how many people have died just so his twisted goals can be met?”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” said Rick, “But if the Trapper is right, then all we need to do is find a way for me to access my powers properly and go back in time to that moment again. We can stop that guy from being murdered, whoever he was.”

“We’ll all soddin’ help,” said another voice from the darkened room. “All of the Justice Society, mate.” The man extended his hand out to Rick and shook it.

“Rick,” said Rex, “This is the rest of the JSA. The British gentleman is John Constantine. You’ve already met Steelhammer, also known as Natasha Irons.”

He motioned beside Constantine to a man wearing a leather jacket with a yellow ring on his hand. “Next to him is Adam Strange.” Strange nodded at him, and his yellow ring sparked with a small burst of energy, then faded as if whatever charged it had run out of power. He thought of a Green Lantern ring when he saw it, but had no idea why a GL ring would be yellow.

“I think,” said the final figure, “that I can help with the who and where of the ‘old man’ you saw murdered.” He stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, well built and wore a black jumpsuit. The suit had a belt across the waist, as well as a shoulder belt across his chest. He wore a leather jacket and black gloves with what looked like spikes or fins extending out from the underside of the gloves. He wore no mask. His face was good looking, except for the scar that ran down his cheek from above his eye to his chin on his right side. An eye patch covered the worst of the injury.

“My name is Bruce Wayne,” said the final member of the JSA. “The man you saw killed was Alfred Pennyworth. I know this, because I was the young boy who was there. I saw him die. But I didn’t see Alfred killed by a purple robed man. I saw him killed…by you.” As those words left his mouth, Wayne brought a gun out and aimed it at Rick’s head.

“I swore I would kill the man who murdered Alfred,” said Wayne. “Now, I will.”

Next Issue: Time’s Shadow concludes…with big changes for Hourman!