Strange Aeons #1 (Comic Book Script, Complete!)

Strange Aeons

That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons, even Death may die.

PAGE 1

Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York City.

Hovering in his personal chambers, steeped in the smoke of many burning herbs and oils, Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and mystic defender of Earth, meditates on his recent failings in the realms of superheroics. He nearly destroyed the world, and possibly the entire universe when he happened upon the Concordance Engine and unwittingly summoned the Death Celestial. He was unable to stop the Phoenix from claiming the life of Professor Charles Xavier when he teamed with the Avengers against Cyclops. His role in the most recent Thanos catastrophe was shameful to say the least. And while it may seem to be the most insignificant in the grand scheme of things, the loss of Casey Kinmont, who assisted him for short time while he was brought low, still haunted him. Her soul burned brightly yet, but her body had been claimed by magic pact, and Strange himself had been stripped of much of his power to traverse dimensions. A small flicker of orange flame floating inside a klein bottle was what remained of the girl on Earth, a daily reminder for the Doctor of how far he had fallen.

            I was once a sage guru of the arcane arts, Strange thinks. I have bound world-swallowing demons and been counseled by Eternity. I have seen and done impossible things, saved countless lives, on numerous occasions. And yet, now, I—I can’t. I’m a doctor yet I dream only of death, and I can save no one.

PAGE 2

            And then the universe screamed with a million voices. Death! DEATH! The voices shouted it over and over, and are then joined by a rejoicing cacophony of greetings and welcomes back and tears. Suddenly, Stephen’s mind’s eye is flooded with images of the dead being returned to their loved ones. He furrows his brow, as he struggles to make sense of the images. Deeper, he thinks, I must go deeper. With the help of the Orb of Agamotto, he sweeps away the fabrics of time and space, piercing through the fragile reality we know to see abstract truth. Death herself is injured, dying, lying on an empty, white space, her skull cracked and bleeding countless forgotten worlds ground to dust. How can that even be possible? And, why me? I can’t reach her. I no longer have the power. I can’t—No. Enough, Stephen, you tired, old man. You will not sit idly, feeling sorry for yourself. You must do something.

PAGE 3

            “Wong!” the Sorcerer Supreme calls as he hastily descends the stairs, “I am going out, the Sanctum is yours!”

            “Going?” Wong asks, he is in the bathroom brushing his teeth, “Why, Stephen, that’s good. I think you need some time on the town.”

            Doctor Strange wears shoes and pants, and buttons a shirt up over his usual tights as he enters the dining room, “This is not a vacation, Wong. I may be gone a long time. You are welcome to leave if you wish, I can shunt the Sanctum into the Astral Plane for the interim.”

            Wong enters, “What’s happened, old friend?”

            “I don’t know,” the Doctor replies, grabbing his hat, shrugging on a trenchcoat, and heading for the door. “Death. Death… and rebirth.”

            “The Phoenix again?” Wong asks.

            “No. Worse, I fear,” Stephen replies, “What about you? Staying or going?”

            “I will go and gather the faithful. If things are as bad as you say, then help may be required.”

            “Indeed.”

PAGE 4

            In Al-Awja, Iraq, an unfortunate civilian casualty of the war on terror claws his way to life once more at an unmarked grave site, watched by his small son. The boy is terrified as his once-dead father, still desiccated and moldy, riddled with unhealed bullet wounds, climbs out of the earth.

             On Durlon Secondus (a distant planet), fragments here and there of the alien civilization that once dwelled there, scorched to utter ruin by the Phoenix, spontaneously decombust, materializing in swathes of flame, their bodies appearing to be in healthy condition, if only very much on fire.

            In the Negative Zone, millions of spores scatter throughout the Zone from its central vortex.

            Off the shore of San Francisco, California, on the island Utopia, indigo, sulfurous smoke envelops the sinking structures and terrain like a rising fog as an unharmed Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler, finds himself alive and alone, standing next to his own grave.

            “Mein gott,” he whispers.

PAGE 5

            In Chelsea, Manhattan, New York City, Cloak (tall and imposing, the young African American man appears to be a living shadow obscured by a dark, patterned cloak) and Dagger (lithe and petite, the young blonde woman is fair-skinned and dressed in a sheer white catsuit with dagger motif cutout) do battle with yet another incarnation of Batroc’s Brigade in the dusk of evening. Batroc’s Brigade is this time around composed of Batroc himself, leaping from rooftop to window sill, his agility and acrobatics a rival for Daredevil or Captain America, Screwball, an enigmatic young American woman with a keen interest in internet media and great skill in both burglary and parkour, Crossbones, an assassin for hire with deadly ability in various forms of combat, weaponry, and warfare, and Ballistique, a young lady who packs a lot of power in her fingertips, able to shoot gouts of flame or “bullets” which can even explode if she wishes. All but Ballistique are armed with firearms, Batroc with two 9mm pistols, Screwball with a single .45, and Crossbones with an array of guns, currently firing off an assault rifle of some variety.

            The bullets do not seem to phase Cloak, firing straight through him, but Dagger showcases a great deal of agility of her own, dodging bullets and mixing it up in melee with both Batroc and Screwball. An aura of multicolored light plays over her body and white light forms punching daggers around her hands.

            “Bones! Ballistique!” Batroc cries, “A little covering fire, s’il vous plait!”

PAGE 6

            The two villains fire a barrage of bullets at Dagger as Batroc and Screwball disengage, but Cloak teleports to her, enveloping her within the folds of his cloak. The bullets pass through him harmlessly as he slowly hovers toward them.

            “You fools should not have come to my end of Manhattan,” Cloak menaces them, his voice low and deep, “Next time bring some real firepower.”

            “Oh, but we have,” Batroc replies, “Ballistique!”

            The femme fatale extends her hands and throws a blast of fire enveloping Cloak completely. He screams and disappears.

            “Where did he go?” Ballistique asks.

            “Does it matter? Let’s get the hell out of here! This is going to blow up my ratings!” Screwball announces.

            As the trio make a break for it, Screwball lags behind the other two a moment.

            “Wait,” she says, “Where’s Crossbones?”

PAGE 7

            Cloak reappears in front of Batroc and Ballistique, smoldering, his cloak half-scorched to ash, his shadow body leaking free-floating globs of darkforce.

            “That hurt,” he states flatly before asking, “Can I eat them?”

            “No,” comes a voice from within him as daggers of light fly out from his torso to strike Batroc and Ballistique in multiple places. Dagger leaps out of Cloak’s body and she kicks the gun out of Batroc’s hand even as her dark companion knocks Ballistique out with a punch.

            “So,” Cloak turns to Dagger, “Light bullets. Think you could manage that?”

            “I dunno,” she answers, “Never tried it before.”

            “Ugh! I can’t believe we’re losing!” Screwball shouts, shooting at the pair of them, “My fans are going to think I’m a joke!”

            Cloak stands still, bullets going through his body, while Dagger cartwheels to the side, dodging out of the way of gunfire.

            “Maybe try it out now?” he plays.

            Making a mock-gun out of her hands, Dagger levels a finger at Screwball, “Why not?” And she fires a tiny mote of light from the tip of her finger which hits Screwball in the hips, knocking her from the wall of a building to the street below.

            “Nice,” Cloak smiles.

PAGE 8

            Across the street, a few buildings away, Crossbones has made it to the rooftop where he has set up a sniper rifle. He’s trained its sight on Dagger, but he doesn’t notice a trenchcoated figure approaching him from behind. He’s about to fire, but he hears something, the softest crunch of paper underfoot, almost inaudible, but not to Crossbones. He lets go of the gun and pulls a hand behind his back, handling a combat knife.

            “Ahhh, well, the spell does only make me silent,” says Doctor Strange, “Not the ground I’m walking on.”

            “Come on, then, old man,” he growls, “Who are you anyway?”

            Strange merely gestures in response, crimson bands peeling from his fingertip to encircle and bind the would-be-assassin like a vice.

            “I can’t recall ever tangling with you, thug,” Strange says distractedly, watching Crossbones lie helpless on the rooftop, “though I must confess myself a trifle wounded that you did not recognize Doctor Strange upon seeing him.”

            He and Crossbones disappear from the rooftop in a flash of red light.

PAGE 9

            Cloak and Dagger stand over the unconscious forms of three out of four of their adversaries.

            “Wasn’t there one more?” Dagger asks.

            “Yeah,” Cloak answers, “He probably cut his losses and ran.”

            “So, what do we do with these ones? Call Spidey?” she continues.

            “Hmm… I don’t trust that guy these days. Why don’t I just ‘port them behind bars and cut out the middle man?”

             “Oh, sure, and leave Mr. Can-I-Eat-Them in charge of their safety?”

            Crossbones, still bound by the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, rolls along the ground at their feet. Stephen Strange appears. “Ty. Tandy,” he says, hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face, “Just tying up loose ends.”

            “Stephen!” Dagger cries as she runs to hug him.

PAGE 10

“Black Box…” Crossbones struggles to speak.

            “I’m sorry, what was that?” Cloak asks him mockingly.

            “Beam us up,” Crossbones continues, “Job’s a wash.”

            Batroc’s Brigade, defeated and lying still in the middle of the street, are each suddenly enveloped by beams of light appearing straight out of the sky. They are translated into data and taken up into the lights which then vanish as quickly they came.

            “What the f*&#?!” Cloak exclaims, “Doc, thanks for the assist, but we’ve gotta go. C’mon Tandy!”

            “Tyrone Johnson, please, don’t bother,” the Doctor says, “There’s something more important happening. I need your help. Can I buy you both dinner?”

PAGE 11

            The three of them sit at a table inside Moonstruck Diner. Cloak’s cloak has changed to a shadow-striped two-piece suit, while Dagger wears a large, white coat with a fur lining.

            “This is nice,” Strange says.

            “Stephen,” Dagger smiles, “You really should get out more.”

            The waiter brings them their food. Doctor Strange has ordered the angel hair capellini, Dagger the chicken strips with fries, and Cloak two pancakes, a Texas burger, buffalo wings, and an order of waffle fries.

PAGE 12

            “You’re really going to eat all that?” Stephen asks him.

            “I can swallow a dozen people at once,” Cloak smiles.

            “Ha,” Doctor Strange laughs, “About that. I need to travel through the Darkforce Dimension.”

            “But you can teleport with magic,” Cloak says.

            “Yes, but I need to go somewhere… extraterrestrial,” Strange replies.

            “I don’t understand,” Dagger says after a pause, “You can do that. Why do you need us?”

            “Magic is a fickle thing, Miss Bowen, and I have failed to properly wield it too many times to count,” he stares into his coffee, stirring, “I am granted my power, in large part, by divine beings such as the Vishanti, or the Octessence. These beings have revoked certain of my abilities. I am no longer capable of dimensional travel, for instance.”

            “So I can get you to the Darkforce Dimension, but what then?” Cloak asks, “What’s got you so spooked, Strange?”

            “I will need you for further travel. Combining my magic and your mutant powers, we will move through the Darkforce Dimension to the Realm of Death herself. She is, for lack of a better term, dying. I intend to perform surgery.”

            “I’m gonna need another coffee,” Dagger says.

PAGE 13

            In the vastness of space, an Emperor of immense power stirs, human in appearance, Caesar-cut black hair and a scar over his left eye, long-thought dead by his brothers and by his enemies, his eyes ablaze with golden fire and fury. Fuming, he states simply, “I LIVE AGAIN!”

            In Gloversville, Mohawk Valley, New York, a man crouches upon the grave of one Hershel Thatcher. His face is cast in shadows and he wears a wide-brimmed hat, a three-piece suit, leather gloves, and a distinctive trench coat, all varying shades of brown. Undead claw their way out of nearby graves.

            The River Styx. A large crowd has amassed at the mouth of the river at the edge of Hades. The boatman has loaded all he can fit onto his small craft and pushes away, away from the lands of the dead. Ares and Phobos stand at the front of the crowd, among those waiting.

            “This isn’t right, is it, Dad?” Phobos asks.

            “No, my son. Something, somewhere, is very, very wrong.” 

PAGE 14

            The Jean Grey School for Higher Learning. Westchester, New York.

            The senior faculty stand in the security hall, watching the camera feed. Smoldering, indigo smoke rises up all over the grounds as Nightcrawler slowly moves toward the front doors, uncertainty in his eyes as he looks all over, taking everything in. Wolverine leans on the counter in front of the cameras, Storm, Iceman, Beast, and Rachel Grey stand behind him.

             “He’s very confused,” Rachel says.

            “I’m very confused,” Bobby replies.

            “He’s dead,” Logan says, “So what’s he doin’ here? What’s he doing HERE?”

            “We were linked when he died, maybe he’s following my telepathic signal—”

            “Or maybe it’s not the Elf at all!” Wolverine rages, “Maybe it’s Mystique! Or fuckin’ Mysterio or some other piece of shit! Kurt was dead when we set up shop here. How would he know to find us here?”

            “Logan,” Beast tries, reassuringly, “Rachel can read minds, she’s reading his mind right now…”

            “It’s him, Logan,” she insists.

            Wolverine turns to face them, silhouetted by the camera monitors, claws popping out with a Snikt! sort of sound.

            “WHAT IF IT AIN’T?!” He roars at them, “His old man’s a god-damned demon! What if this is some bullshit trap? Everyone I love gets killed and brought back from the dead and then killed again! HE WAS MY BEST FRIEND! The Professor died because that stupid, blue Elf died saving some stupid, little girl! He was my only friend.”

PAGE 15

            He falls to his knees. Storm puts her hand on his shoulder.

            “That is not true, Logan. You know that. Let us go talk to him,” she says soothingly.

PAGE 16

            Rachel and Kurt embrace warmly just outside the front doors of the school, Storm, Beast, and Iceman standing nearby, and mutant children looking in wonder at, interchangeably, the mysterious smoke enveloping the grounds, or at Nightcrawler.

            “I don’t remember anything afterwards,” Nightcrawler is saying, “Did it work? Is Hope okay?”

            “You saved her Kurt,” Rachel confirms, “She’s… doing well now.”

            “What happened? Where are the others? Where’s Logan? Is everything alright?”

            “A LOT has happened, for starters,” Beast says, a beaming smile on his face, “Oh my stars and garters, Kurt, I can’t believe you’re alive!”

            “But where is everybody else? Where’s Scott?”

            “Scott,” Rachel scowls.

            “The X-Men broke up, pal, I’m sorry to say,” Iceman says, “Scott’s not with us.”

            “No!” Nightcrawler exclaims, “Don’t tell me I’ve come back and he’s died!”

            “Not dead. Just not with us,” Bobby replies.

            “Logan will fill you in,” Ororo adds.

            “He’s here?” Kurt asks.

            “He’s the Headmaster,” Rachel tells him.

PAGE 17

            Logan sits at the desk in the security room. He watches them come inside the mansion. He sits for a moment, staring at nothing, then at the ground. Then he stands. Then he walks out, into the hall. On his way to the Headmaster’s Office, Idie, a young black girl with big, frizzy hair crosses his path.

            “Professor Logan…” she begins, “Are you alright? Quentin says something—”

            “Not now, Idie. And tell Quentin he’s got detention.”

PAGE 18

            In the Headmaster’s Office, Logan grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He stares at them for a moment and then decides to leave the glass and drink from the bottle. There’s a knock at the door.

            “Aha,” says Nightcrawler, on the other side of the door, “Headmaster’s Office. Fancy digs, mein freund. May I come in?”

            Logan pops his claws. Then he puts them back.

            “You can come in,” he says.

PAGE 19

            The two stand facing one another, roughly six feet apart.
            “You been dead awhile, bub,” Wolverine says.
            “I am sorry if my coming back to life has offended you, old friend,” Kurt responds.
            “Kurt… it ain’t that,” Wolverine replies, “But don’t expect me t’run over there and hug ya’ neither.”

“The school is nice,” Nightcrawler says, “I’m glad to see the Professor decided to reopen it.”

“Sit down, Elf,” Logan says, “Have a drink.”

They sit in two plush chairs angled toward a round coffee table. Wolverine pours Kurt a drink.

“Didja see Jean any?” Wolverine asks.

“No,” Kurt answers.

“Hrmph,” Logan sinks into his chair, “The Professor didn’t reopen the school. He didn’t come back with you?”

“Come back?” Nightcrawler is confused, “What do you mean ‘come back?’”

            “It’s like I said,” Wolverine takes a drink from his bottle, “You been dead awhile.”

PAGE 20

            Wong walks the streets of Downtown Manhattan dressed in his traditional green-and-yellow, kung fu uniform style garb. He holds an old nokia cell phone to his ear.

            “Spider-Man does not answer,” he says to himself, “He used to be so reliable.”

            Next he calls Luke Cage, big, black, bald with a goatee, indestructible skin, and super-strength. Cage, in the middle of a fight with a horde of zombies, answers, himself holding a go-phone to his own ear.

            “Doc?! Why are you callin’ me on this fossil?” Luke shouts over the clamor as he and the Mighty Avengers punch their way through dozens of moaning undead, “We could really use your help out here!”

            “This is not the Doctor!” Wong shouts back, “This is Wong! Is this a bad time? Something grave is happening.”

            “Grave. Is that supposed to be funny, Wong?” Luke crushes two zombie heads together, “You’re damn right something grave is happening! There’s zombies all over Harlem! Get your ass somewhere safe!”

PAGE 21 

            Wong’s brow furrows, “Safe? No, Luke Cage, I have hidden in the safety of Stephen Strange’s shadow for long enough. I am a master of martial arts that Evil has forgotten existed. The time is overripe for me to give a lesson.”