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Twins in Death: Chapter Four – Part One

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay



Chapter Four: The Red Twin



June 22nd, 2002

4:44 p.m.


            While the Death of Omega has obviously been covered in great detail, and has very little do with The Weirdo, it would do us well to at least recap this event. This is in no way a complete record of the events, which are possibly best recounted in Martin K. Lambert’s “Omega: The Death of a God,” but they do show where The Weirdo’s connection comes in.


            Armageedun had come out of nowhere, and started to attack. No one ever found out where it came from, or what it wanted. The thing was simply a super-powered plot contrivance, sent for no other reason than to destroy. The Justice Avengers had been the first to fall, and then the Robo-Squad had fallen under its boot, finally it had to contend with Omega. The tall man in the Blue suit with the large golden Greek Letter on his chest had arrived just as the Scarlet Torch completely drained his magic bracelet of power and the beast’s fist smashed his head into an unrecognizable smudge in the concrete.


            The Blue Weasel had been the next to go, but then he’d only been armed with a small laser cannon that hadn’t worked before. The monster seemed to grow stronger  from the ray before it tore Blue Weasel’s head off. It then smashed its head through his chest and bit his heart out of his body. As the beast lifted its blood stained maw, Omega’s own blood began to pump faster and he flew into the monster with all his strength.


            It had been years since a superhero had been killed. Costumed adventures like Weasel had died, but not a genuine Superhero. Scarlet Torch had been killed, members of The Justice Avengers had been killed, this was not to be borne. It was one thing in his mind to kill a costumed avenger, but to kill a superhero was another thing.


            The fight that ensued continued over three states, ending in the place where all battles would seem to end, Central Park in New York City. Both combatants had gained and lost ground during the fight, but Omega seemed determined that Armageedun’s path of destruction would end in the city he loved so. It’s not that it was sensible, but it was good for a narrative.


            Omega’s fist struck against Armageedun’s jaw, and something shattered. At first, he thought it was his own mighty arm, but then seeing the beast scream, its mouth hung open he realized what it must have been. He’d managed to hurt the damn thing, finally. Now all he had to do was do it again. He looked at his wrist, the golden crystals imbedded in his arms were almost all broken and turned to dust. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this fight up much longer. He felt his muscles scream as he threw himself towards the beast smashing his shoulder into its midsection.


            Something gave, and it wasn’t in the beast’s belly. He knew that his right shoulder was broken, and then the boney spiked knee of the thing rose up and pierced his side. Omega didn’t scream, though he would have liked to. He could tell that his lung had been punctured, and he felt the other lung go as the spikes on the monster’s fists drove in through his back and crushed his lungs. The world started to go black, and he used all the power he had left to grab the monster by the legs and lift. He threw it up and punched it, determined that this fight would go no further.


            He tried to stand up, but it wasn’t going well, and that damn thing was charging towards him again. His fist curled back and slung forward with all the strength he had left, but he collapsed before it could connect. The beast drove its fist down towards the hero’s head, determined to crush his skull and eat the goo inside.


            It is still, to this very day, unclear as to where The Weirdo had actually come from, but suddenly he was there. Not only was he suddenly there, but he had drawn the nearly mythical black gun and had it cocked and aimed. Amrageedun was about four inches from the barrel when the gun when off, and its head vanished in an explosion the impact of which was recorded as far away as New Brunswick.


            The body of Armageedun fell over, dead, and The Weirdo picked up Omega in his arms. As suddenly as the man in the gray trench coat had appeared, he disappeared, taking Omega with him. Two minutes later, Omega’s body appeared in the place where it had fallen. Someone had clearly made a serious but failed attempt to save his life. He had been cleaned up, the tears in his costume had been stiched together as well as could be done.


            What was odd, is that The Weirdo denyed any involvement in this, and was backed up by his compatriots. He was, to put it bluntly, drunk at the time. When he came out of his house to see reporters he was stumbling and clearly too far gone to have had any involvement. All they would tell the press at the time was that he was distraught over a personal matter, and since there was more pressing news than that about the media left off for the scent of blood.



March 27th, 1935

10:41 p.m.


            To say that things were not going well was to make a grand understatement. To say that a full-blown shit storm had been unleashed might come closer to the mark. The simple raid had turned into nearly a full-scale war. They hadn’t been expecting the Vestugi’s and the Marreneli’s to be making a pact against them. They hadn’t been expecting that The Vole and his teenage sexpot sidekick Fox Girl were going to show up and get themselves killed.


            What had started as another night of shooting bad guys was turning quickly into a night of everyone getting killed. Tommy had caught a bullet in the leg and James had been shot to pieces trying to save Fox Girl. Machine gun bullets had torn through him and ripped into her.  He fell to the ground, and she landed on top of him.


            The Weirdo had then gone completely and totally batshit. He took Tommy’s machine gun and with one in each hand began to spray the entire group. He then announced that he was going to get them all. They got out of the warehouse before the explosives they had planted detonated the entire building.


            The fire lanced the sky, smoke and sound shot around them. The Weirdo drove away until they were clear and then slammed on the brakes. He turned in the driver’s chair and looked at his two remaining compadres.


            “Get out.” He said.


            “What?” Tommy asked.


            “Get a cab.” The Weirdo yelled, and then his face grew sorrowful. “James is dead Tommy. This has got to end, and it’s got to end tonight. I’m going to take care of them.”


            “You sound like your going to get yourself killed.” Jack admonished.


            “No.” The Weirdo said shaking his head. “But I am going to end this, tonight. Get Tommy’s leg looked at, and we’ll meet up in the morning for breakfast as Sardi’s.”


            “We better.” Tommy said.


            The door closed and the car sped off, and that was the last they saw of him. Tommy and Jack only heard about the events that happened later, as police and reporters came to ask them questions. What happened that night took weeks of rumor and false stories to sort out.


            There followed a night of explosions, of people flying out of windows and of gunshots. By morning there were six hundred and forty two people dead. The Weirdo, and the car were both missing, swallowed up by the night. Most had accepted that he got too close to one of the places he had blown up, that some of the dynamite in the back of the car had finally exploded, something like that. That The Weirdo was dead did not seem to be contested in any great way.


            Jack and Tommy spent the next month waiting for him to come through the door, but it didn’t happen. The story that eventually made the rounds was that the car had exploded with him in it. The fact that pieces of the car were never found made them wonder about this. It wouldn’t be hard for the few that he left alive to have disposed of the car though, just out of spite. However, there was never a reliable story about the car’s destruction. Each time the story came around several details were different. No one ever found a bit of him or the car, and no one ever found anyone who knew what had become of the remains.


            Tommy never believed it, because Tommy had read comic books. In the comic books, which were beginning to spring up around most the costumed heroes, you could never tell about death. A person might fall into the river, but unless you saw their dead body, you knew they’d swam to the shore and would be back in a later issue. The days of Dr. Pinopscotch and The Shade had long since gone. Now there was White Eagle and The Blue Weasel, who almost always left people alive.


            Had he known how much later it would be, they wouldn’t have kept the house open as long as they did. It was expensive to keep all the servants around, particularly for a house that wasn’t theirs. Jack stayed around and he and Tommy did what they could for the next few years, but then the German thing began and Jack went to England. It wasn’t until Tommy came back from The War that they closed the house up for good.


            The money hadn’t been a problem, but it wasn’t theirs. The Weirdo had made sure that Tommy knew how to get to the money he had, but Tommy didn’t like the idea of using The Weirdo’s money. Even if they could keep living off the interest until the day they died. Ten years after he had vanished, Tommy finally admitted he wasn’t coming back, and closed the house up.


            He and Amy then lived the life they had planed to live. He went to work for the FBI and the CIA as a private consultant, moved into private eye work, and retired in nineteen seventy five, at nearly sixty five years of age.  He had made quite a bit of money, and he and Amy moved to a house in the hills, his youth with The Weirdo all but forgotten. Amy died in nineteen eighty, a year before their granddaughter was even born. He had started his family late, and so had his only son.



July 3rd, 2002

1:18 p.m.


            To say that The Weirdo didn’t attend Omega’s funeral wouldn’t be entirely true. In a sense he was there, in spirit, but in a very real and physical sense he wasn’t there. In fact it would be more accurate to say that while Jack, Max and Tommy attended, The Weirdo slept. They hadn’t had the heart to wake him, as it was a recordable fact that he hadn’t slept in at least two days now. Not being able to sleep and then sleeping for half the day had once again become his new favorite hobby. The rest of the time he had become self-contained to the point of avoidance. He wouldn’t have come to the funeral anyway, he was against the idea of ceremonies.


            It must also be pointed out that in fact it wasn’t just the funeral for Omega, but a memorial for all that fell during Armageedun’s short reign of terror. It was just that Omega was the star of the funeral, as he had been in life as well. His presence, even dead, dominated the proceedings. His body was also the most intact of the fallen heroes, which meant that he alone could have an open casket.


            In many ways, a good deal of the people who were there would have liked to share his feelings on ceremony. The funeral for Omega wasn’t a celebration of a life, but the reminder of a death. He had no family to console, at least not that anyone knew, and many wondered who would save the day now that the man who had done it so many times had gone. It was a clear reminder that there was no such thing as an invincible hero, that even Omega could die.


            It shook people the way nine-eleven had shaken them just a few months before. It seemed now that the end of the world might come soon, that there was no hope. Despair had become the order of the day. In fact the feeling that the end of the world was coming would hover over people for some time after that.


            In deed, one might wonder how the events of the next few years might have gone had Omega not been killed, if The Weirdo had shown up just a minute earlier. Of course one could also wonder what would have happened had George Washington not died in the battle of Kip’s Bay leaving the way open for Horatio Gates to take over as General the Revolutionary Army. The British likely would have won with Washington in charge. History has many twists and turns, and no one can say how a thing will turn out until they’ve seen it come to its fruition.


            Omega’s casket was placed in a tomb specially made for him in Central Park, on the spot where he finally fell dead. The public watched as the great door was closed and sealed, and then they drifted away, waiting for a day when they could think of the man of titanium without bursting into tears. They were also waiting for the day when someone might be able to save them again. The world looked very dark.



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