Countdown, Issue #001

Issue #001 – – – – – controlled by Rene Sawatzki – – – – – Credits 8

Countdown was tumbling through the timestream.  For all he knew he had been doing so for days.  Or months. Or years.  Or forever.

To be truthful, he didn’t really know if there was time in the timestream, given that the timestream was, by its nature, exterior to actual time.

Neither was he sure which way he was tumbling, or if there was such a thing as a way in the first place.  After all, time existed in its entirety from beginning to end (if you can consider there to be a beginning and an end, which he was fairly sure you couldn’t, but that was another matter.)

All he knew was that he was utterly powerless to do anything about it.

He’d woken up a short time ago (again, with the time references, in a place where time didn’t exist.  He was human.  He couldn’t help it) and discovered his unfortunate predicament.  It had taken him a while to work out what was going on.  This wasn’t surprising, since he’d never been actually in the timestream before.   But gradually a combination of analytical thinking, instinct and the nudges and tingles in his mind from the powers he possessed he managed to put it together.

Now for the problem.  Countdown hadn’t lost his powers.  They were still there.  He just couldn’t access them in a place where there was no time.  He was like an expert pianist in a room surrounded by pianos all behind thick sheets of bulletproof plate glass.  He could see them, but he couldn’t do a thing with them.

Countdown could not remember how he had got here.  His mind was a blank back quite some time, with occasional fragments of memory hanging tantalisingly close but never clearly in view.  He thought this probably meant that the world had ended.  He was matter of fact about it, because his view of the world was different to that of normal people.  He knew that even if it ended in some form at a certain place in time it will still continue to exist elsewhere on the timestream.  He also knew that while such things should be permanent, in the Grand Scheme (if there were a Grand Scheme, about which he could not say for sure) – they often were not.  Time could change.

Still, tumbling in this weird mixture of colours and otherworldly sounds wasn’t actually hurting him.  He wouldn’t starve or die of thirst, since that took time and here there was none of that.  There didn’t appear to be anything else here with which he could interact, so nothing was going to attack him, eat him or smash into him at high speed.  He supposed he would eventually go mad.  He had heard that could happen due to extended periods of isolation and loneliness.  He didn’t know how long that took.  Or if it could happen in a place where there was no “how long” with which to measure it.

Abruptly, he was sitting in a chair in a dark room facing an elderly man in a black robe.  The colours and the sounds were gone, replaced by blessed silence.
“Hello John,” the Old Man said.  “We need to talk.”
“Fine by me,” said Countdown.  “I can take a break from tumbling helplessly through nothingness.  No problem.”
“Your world has ended.  Your link with reality was broken to protect you.  The realignment would have driven somebody with your powers mad, or killed you, if you had experienced it directly.”
“Okay,”  Countdown said.  He had no reason to disbelieve his companion and he had seen quite enough weirdness to take things at face value that would make most normal people presume barking insanity.  The Old Man seemed to appreciate his lack of scepticism, nodding and smiling.  “But things have settled down now.  The new alignment has solidified.  So you need to go back.”
“I can’t,” Countdown said.  “My powers don’t work out here.”
“I can put you back,” the Old Man said.  “My abilities are a bit broader than yours.”
“Okay,” Countdown acknowledged again.
“But when I return you to your world,” the Old Man said, “I will want you to act as my agent.  There are things you need to do there to fix some of the damage.  To correct ruptures and tears, and to return a sense of balance which has been lost.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Countdown said, “Since you are more powerful than me, can’t you do it?”
“I cannot,” said the Old Man.  “Some things are forbidden.”
“Okay,”  Countdown said.  Clearly, this was some major player in the Cosmic Scheme (if there was a Cosmic Scheme.  Which it seemed there might be.)  He was curious, but he presumed he’d be told what he needed to know.  And after all, the Old Man had rescued him from an eternity of falling through emptiness.  That earned him quite a few points in Countdown’s view.  “So what do I do?”
“Take this,” the Old Man gave him a pocket watch on a chain.  “And this,” he handed him a tiny but functional hourglass.
“What is the world like?  What will I see?”
“You will see familiar faces, some of whom are people that should exist, some of whom are just shadows of them, and some who do not belong at all. You will see much darkness and much change, seldom for the better.  You will be drawn to situations and people and you have a long journey ahead.  This is not a short task I set you.  It will take you much time.”
“Time is something I have a lot of,” Countdown said, wryly.
“Indeed.”  The Old Man agreed.  “So you agree?”
Countdown nodded.  After all, it was that or back to the tumbling.  He could see that getting old, real fast.  Metaphorically speaking.
“Then take the hourglass and shake it,” the Old Man said.  Countdown did so and immediately felt the world begin to shift around him.
“And be ready to defend yourself.  When you materialise, three dozen giant killer robots will be trying to kill you.”
“Wait!  What?” Countdown cried, but it was too late.  He was in a huge empty warehouse.  Well, emptyish.  There was him and three dozen giant killer robots that didn’t look at all friendly.