The Biological Brain Illness Attack

Though this pic does not actually go with the subjects of this piece, LDB is by far my favorite comic book character under Biological Brain Illness Attack.

In her lair, hidden under meteor rock and light years away from any nearby life, the Skrull Queen Clone plans her next move. She’s aware that if she, the clone, has been awoken, then her life-source, the real queen, must have failed.

(There must be something telling about comic books themselves when this incredibly far-fetched scenario sounds neither unlikely nor the most far-fetched comic book plot line ever done.)

The Queen and the small contingent of Skrull warriors left to guard and wake her begin to lay out the groundwork for their next attack of Earth. She knows that the number of Skrulls left in hidden enclaves around the universe would be sufficient to at least control the Earth. At the same time she also knows that they are too few to even try another plan using shape-shifting infiltration. Direct assault never makes it even close to the board.

She meets with her scientist, only one had been left for her, to devise some way for the Skrull race to capture the planet that the prophecies describe as theirs. They search for some way to remove the only real roadblock to fulfilling their race’s ultimate purpose: Earth’s superpowered population.

They know direct confrontation can’t happen. The superpowered earthers will now also have set up some sort of counter-measures against another infiltration.

“There must be something,” says the Clone Queen, “Something that will take our planet away from these weak-minded fools.”

“That’s the problem my queen,” says her scientist, “They are never as weak-minded as we think. Complex, yes. So complex that their own minds can be born biologically sick.”

She turns from the standard, enormous windows that have graced all other-world complexes since man could draw them or put them in movies. “What?”

“They have minds so simple in thought, yet so complex in quantity of difference and divergence, that many on Earth are born with biological illnesses in their own minds.”

“What sort of illnesses?”

“Those too differ, my queen. Some are left without an understanding of what they conceptualize as good and evil. Others have extreme behaviors of some sort. One of their diseases actually acts silently, hiding and waiting in their brains to take away all their thoughts and hopes and dreams and leave them in a state of irrational helplessness.”

“How can it act silently?”

“Honestly we haven’t even figured that one out.” Fear flashes on his face as he looks at her. “Yet. But somehow they have a disease that goes untraceable. It lies in waiting in their own minds or can even allow them just enough space to live and at least show the world that they don’t have the disease. When it develops, while different in each individual human, it often leaves them frozen and helpless and unable to act or even perform simple tasks necessary in life.”

The Clone Queen turns and faces her scientist. They lock eyes and look at each other for a moment saying nothing.

They smile.

“I will begin work at once my queen.”

“You will have saved our race.”

-

Steve Rogers wakes up.

He doesn’t move.

He sees the light breaking through the curtains. He can tell after all his years of super soldier and Captain America training and experience that it’s mid-afternoon light, most likely around three.

The thought hits his gut harder than any punch even the Hulk could have thrown. He’d double up more on the couch if that were physically possible.

He closes his eyes.

Maybe he can still fall back asleep.

-

Peter Parker hears a faint knock.

He gets up off the floor and stands up.

Locked in the secret vault that comes with each Horizon Labs think tank expert, he moves from the corner he’s been sitting in and pushes through the suits he once made for a life that he once had.

He glances at a mirror. He’s sure that anyone can see the sign painted on his face telling the truth. He’d prefer if they’d find out that he’s Spider-man than what he’s been going through now.
He then feels guilty that he would even think that.

Another knock.

He opens the door. Inches from his face he stares in the eyes of his Horizon Labs boss, Max Modell.

Max’s mouth seems to open in slow motion.

Fear wraps around Peter stronger and more painful than if even Galactus were opening a maw to swallow Mary Jane, a still-alive Gwen Stacy and Aunt May all at once.

Max must know the truth.

“Are you all right Peter?”

“I’m all right Max,” Peter says knowing that the blinking sign on his forehead must be giving him away.

“It’s just that you’ve been so locked up.”

Peter feels he’s almost sure he remembers that this is how Max always talks. That Max always does care.

But no one would care if he knew the truth.

“I know Max. And I admit I’m a bit stumped on a few things and I’ve been a bit slow...”

“That’s not the problem Peter.”

Was that caring again?

“It is Max. I know that I have a quarterly quota and I mean to make it. I mean to show you how much this place means to me.”

Holy $&*%, he thinks. That’s as genuine as it was a tactic to keep Max away.

“Peter it’s not just that. You’ve...” Max looks around. “You’ve not brought out any new ‘spider’ technology. In fact, even Spider-man has been silent these days.”

“That’s true Max. In fact that’s the whole reason we’ve, I’ve, been so locked up and away. This one’s a doozy.”

“You know Peter, I’d love to help. You and Spider-man have given Horizon Labs such a wonderful chance to use our brains, our science and our tech to really save lives in a whole different way.”

“I know Max, and I, we, appreciate that. Only this one’s just different. For now. But I have a feeling that either I’ll have it all solved or will be asking for your thoughts real soon.”

Max’s eyes linger on Peter an extra second. Does he see the billboard behind me? Peter thinks.

“All right Peter. Please keep me updated. Just to...keep me updated.”

“You bet Max.”=

Peter shuts and seals the vault. Feeling as though Doc Ock has used some sort of gravity gun to make his legs heavier than the weight of the planet, he slowly shuffles back to his corner.

-

Jennifer Walters looks up from her desk.

She hears the buzz of the law office behind her door. People answering calls. Answering e-mails. Writing depositions. Preparing for court. 

Going about their lives without a second thought.

She looks at her screen and the argument she’s writing. It’s good. It’s really good.

She tries to be thankful that she can at least be a lawyer. That she can pour herself into her work. Sometimes she’s even able to forget.

Sometimes.

Sometimes she can forget that she’s really just this green thing. That this sick, ugly green thing is actually a sex symbol in this sick, ugly world.

At least Spider-man can take off the costume.

She hates green. She hates the world. She hates herself. She hates that she even thinks this.

Jennifer spends most of her days wondering how she can die. She knows that she can’t step in front of a bus or train; she’d just kill others. She knows that she can’t hang herself or shoot herself in the side of the head.

Maybe if she shot herself in the eye, she thinks. Even She-Hulk’s eyes can’t stop a bullet.

She imagines herself trying to buy a gun and what that would look like. She’d smile if the thought didn’t push her farther down the abyss

She remembers the friends who’ve died. She envies them. She remembers the ones who’ve come back. It pushes her further down.

Her eyes return to her screen and she realizes that she’s probably done with anything productive for the day.

At least today she isn’t crying about it.

She’s sure that the men never have to think about crying. Does Wolverine ever @#$%ing cry?

Could he die from a bullet to the brain? He went to hell anyway.

Jennifer doesn’t want hell. Or heaven.

She wants oblivion.

-

Clint Barton wakes up in his bed. It’s eight AM.

He misses Pizza Dog. He misses lying down and just hanging out on the couch with Lucky the Pizza Dog.

The thought that he couldn’t give his dog everything he needed punctures his stomach worse than any Hawkeye arrow he’s shot. 

He looks at his cell phone.

It’s off.

He wants to turn it on. He wrestles with the fear of actually turning it on. He’d do better wrestling with Thor.

He knows he’s had Avengers calls. SHIELD calls. Worse, calls from his neighbors asking for help.

He’s let them down. He’s let them all down.

He sees the bowl and the packet of weed on the counter. One of the benefits of living in Brooklyn, he figures. Good thing he’s no X-man.

He gets up, grabs the lighter from the table and heads to the counter.

-

I’m not a fan fiction type of writer. Actually, on a personal level, I would never write fan fiction. I’ve always felt that the time and energy spent on it would drain my tank too much to work on my own material.

A couple of years ago I made a statement to myself and, through my writing, the world that I would never hide from the effects of one truth:

I suffer depression.

And yet I still thought I had it all figured out. I found it easy to talk about being fired at an executive sales position or about how it’s hard to work in an office. Working for others in only sales is something I may enjoy once in a while but it’s never been a passion of mine.

Cmx499 became a passion of mine.

I’ve always had a passion for comic books. I’ve always had a passion for writing. I’ve developed a passion to create projects of my own. I even have a passion for creating business projects and companies. 

Cmx499 had it all.

It even grew quickly. I don’t mean took off or shot up. But it did grow quicker than I thought. I have requests from writers to review their work. Lots of requests. I had been having weekly conversations with this really cool comic book fan/critic/blogger/podcaster about comics. I even had a request to write a piece for someone that would be published on a major site.

I haven’t touched or done anything cmx499 in over a month.

My experiences have been varied. I haven’t just stayed in bed like Cap. I haven’t just hid in plain site like Spider-man and She-Hulk. I haven’t just drowned that horrible part of my brain with all sorts of chemicals like Hawkeye.

But I have done it all.

At one point my cmx499 e-mail probably had 19838 messages I couldn’t look at. At least it felt that many. I turned off all Twitter notifications and seriously contemplated uninstalling the app completely.

I let people down. (I’m so sorry Brian and Kevin if you’re reading this. So, so sorry.)

But I love cmx499. I love why I started it. I love what I was doing. I loved the growth it had. It made me feel good. It made me feel proud.

I will get there again. To those I’ve let down, I apologize yet again. To those I’ve shunned I not only apologize but also want you to know that while I did shun all contact, I missed it even more.
In fact, I miss it all. Very much.

I will be back. And the fact that I could even write and publish this tells me it could be sooner rather than later. 

I’m hopeful.

For those who don’t know, hope is sometimes just as powerful as Mjolnir against depression.

(And for those who don’t get the reference, it’s just another geek thing.)

Damn Skrulls haven’t won yet. 

I hope you’re around after we, yet again, clean up New York when it’s over.

All my best wishes,
Howard