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Thread: Worlds Apart

  1. #1
    Worlds Apart

    Worlds Apart

    The genius Doctor Arland Strange passed on July 3rd, 1928. Since his birth in the early 19th century, he acquired he had acquired so many titles, honorables and credentials that he likely surpassed even the great Leonardo da Vinci in the realm of major sciences. For most of his life he was a student, paying for his enormous amounts of education with patents and side-projects. The last side-project he was able to complete was his legacy -- that is, the metal man he entrusted the care of to Patricia, his second great-granddaughter and the then-only surviving member of the Strange family.

    Within this metal man was the brain of the original Arland Strange. All of his memories, his virtues, his vices and all of his knowledge, captured in the cycloptic head of a six-and-a-half foot tall walking, talking man of steel.

    The metal man may have been Doc Strange all but in form, but his mind worked differently. It worked faster, unrestricted by the organs that the human mind must maintain or sleep or thirst or hunger. Even given these inherent advantages, however, the metal man had his limits. For example, he ran on electric power, which meant relying on expensive, bulky batteries that only gave him brief, hour-long bursts of energy. Even given the switch from man to machine, he hadn't lost his engineering spirit. Given just one month, he overcame this problem by creating a cheaper, longer-lasting alternative: reusable batteries. These weren't entirely true to their name -- given a lack of a special ingredient, they were nothing but bulky, empty battery-shaped cartridges -- but they used molten salts to store energy. These molten salt batteries gave him roughly three days of rigorous, continuous activity, and there was no shortage of salt that Doc Strange had ever heard of.

    And given ten years, the machine finished what the original Doctor Arland Strange could not finish given a lifetime!

    It was Doc Strange's dream since he first discovered the concept of shortcuts through space and time, a theory published back in 1921 by a German mathematician named Hermann Weyl. It was a machine that could harness the abilities of one of these "wormholes" and bring a controlled one right to Earth's doorstep! He imagined it as an immense thing like a theater, with all of the complex parts hidden in an immense box like a stage, with one giant eye-shaped portal that would allow a glimpse into worlds previously unknown on top of that stage, and a terminal off to side on which he could coordinate precisely the locations he wanted to visit.

    The metal man stood before it on July 2nd, 1939 as his World's Fair exhibition was being prepared, and it was just as he imagined it in his mind's eye back in 1921. It was no disappointment, and his accomplishment amazed even him. Except . . .

    He put his hands on his hips and sighed at the magnificent "eye" of the grand wormhole machine. It didn't have a name. Did it need one? He didn't honestly know. The culmination of twenty years of dreaming and hard work and oh goodness -- just thinking about the money it took to bring this dream to life brought worries to the forefront of his mind. And he didn't have a name for it!

    He hung his head, sighed again and went home.

    The next day, he recited his schedule and looked over his notes and a prepared speech as Patricia drove him to Fountain Lake, where the Fair was being held. He and the adventurers that were to accompany here were to sign autographs and respond to the press at the British Pavilion before his exhibition showing at roughly two-o'-clock, where he would give a speech that he calculated would last exactly an hour and be just before the expedition of the century would begin.

    Planet Mu. He had found the planet by extreme accident, and traveled there before as a small reconnaissance to see if it was proper for expediting. The answer was a resounding yes. Planet Mu was a perfect copy of Earth -- a clone! He discovered cities populated by humans, recognizable plants and an extremely, if not entirely similar atmospheric composition. Even the distinctive "boot" of Italy and the metropolis of New York City, albeit with a strange skyline were present. There was one moon, and it was the third planet away from the sun as usual. The similarities were amazing, and given the right plain of untouched land, you couldn't tell the difference with the slightest clue.

    "Nervous?" Patricia asked about halfway to their destination.

    Doc Strange didn't look away from his notebook from a moment, calculating and recalculating the exact location of Planet Mu now, in several hours and one year from now. Things moved through space and time, and he'd look like a fool if everything wasn't pitch-perfect. "Not in the slightest," he said, "moreso excited."

    Patricia always forgot how much he sounded like the original. There may have been static and a slightly muffled effect when he spoke, but it was undeniably his voice. It just like hearing her second great-grandfather speak through a telephone. "Pfft, you're nervous; you always got antsy whenever these big events came up."

    Doc Strange didn't reply. She was right, but he never liked admitting that. He pretended to be engrossed in his calculations until they arrived at the New York World's Fair.

    He arrived at the British Pavilion at seven-o'-clock AM on the dot. It was fitting he be there; he was English born and raised, after all. However, he had grown very attached to baseball in the hundred or so years he was alive. Unfortunately, his love of the game never disproved Patricia's droning on about how baseball was "boring" and "a sport tailor-made for old people."

    The British Pavilion was a large and often crowded open forum, draped in flags and British patriotism and located in the Government area. Strange's own exhibit was in the Transportation area, which was between the main entrance and the Theme Center and all the way across the park from Government. Although General Motors had dominated most of Transportation, he managed to locate a space just big enough for his fantastic machine that was just in front and slightly to the right of the Trylon and the Perisphere.
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  2. #2
    General Motors had made quite an investment in the exhibit they were showing at Fountain Lake. They were introducing the Red Bullet, a new car designed to be the future of luxury transportation, and they launched it along with a campaign titled the “Red Revolution”, somehow hinting at the communist power at a time when politics were a touchy subject. Such was the need they had to make an impact that they would go with anything to attract the public's attention. This show had to go perfect, but you just can't plan everything.

    A man in his 50s was opening their part of the exhibition with a grandstanding speech only those working for General Motors seemed to care about, since most of the public were just dazzled with the impressive looks of the car. “I would give a kidney to ride that beauty”, a man said. “Do you think they will let us sit in it?”, asked another man.

    The man giving the big speech realized no one was really paying attention and decided to change his approach. “Please, this Red Bullet is a prototype. At this moment we can't let you use it, but our photographers will be glad to take your pictures with it.” The audience roared and the big man felt at ease.

    The event was moving smoothly, but it was not to go as perfect as expected. Five men in the crowd suddenly put on black masks and showed some guns they were hiding in their bags, pointing at the public. They moved fast and knocked out the guards of the exhibit, while one of them grabbed the man who seemed to be running this part of the exhibition.

    “Be still or I will start shooting you, people”, said the masked man who seemed to be the leader of the group, the one who held hostage the big man. “This is a robbery and if you behave, you may live to tell the tale.”
    Last edited by Meteoro; 06-29-2011 at 04:19 PM.
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  3. #3
    "Doctor Strange!" called a voice over the crowd of the Pavilion. The first ten times it cried, he ignored it. The eleventh and the twelfth and the thirteenth, too. There was enough press and fans here wanting his attention that a "get in line, bub" mentality was starting to form. But when the voice was close enough for its owner to be seen, Strange looked up from the autographs he was signing and the microphones shoved into his face to spot a clean-shaven, square-jawed man in a gray single-breasted suit and fedora, who was almost as tall as he was. "Doctor Strange!" he said, pushing past more of the crowd, "My name's Alan Mansell. Call me Flash. Would you be interested in doing an interview for television?"

    Television? This was new, and a far cry from the newspaper press pulling at his arms and legs for an interview. Television always seemed interesting. It was a way to watch baseball and even films from the seat of your couch! "Definitely, mister Mansell," he said almost immediately. Anything to get away from the crowd!

    "Fantastic! Follow me. We're holding it inside the top floor of the Communications building in the, well, Communication zone." Mansell turned and left, and Doc Strange was right behind him all the way. The Communication zone was just to the left of Transportation.

    Their destination was a pristine white room with a large window to provide light and a fantastic view of the Perisphere and the Trylon. The camera was rolling since before Doc Strange arrived, lying in wait for him. Two large, leather-bound chairs were pulled up to the lens.

    The man behind the camera was out of shape, short and wore a pair of round-framed, thick-lensed glasses that took up most of his upper face. He seemed like he was sweating even in the air-conditioned environment and he greeted the pair with a wide grin that took up most of his lower face. "Doctor Strange! Flash! Ready to begin?"
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  4. #4
    Lurker Banshee is offline
    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    A few clouds were travelling in the New York sky that morning, Their grayish-white silhouettes were reflected on the glass and metal structures climbing for the sky, watching over the city that never slept. It almost seemed like they were merging, disappearing in the dull summer day while the traffic below them was already loud enough o be heard from someone in the 5th or 6th floor.

    A young woman stood up lazily from her leather chair and walked towards the 38th level window watching down at the busy center of the city. Up here the noise could not reach her but she knew it all too well, she almost imagined that she could hear the faint buzzing of the automobiles, the scatters from hundreds of conversations, the ticking of a thousand clocks rushing. If she lifted her eyes just a little bit she would see a few zeppelins anchored at the highest of the skyscrapers or even floating between them, seemingly motionless, almost as if they were guarding the city from up above.

    The almost-30ish woman looking down at the river of people did not quite fit the very professional looking room, with all its dark wooden and leather furniture or the Monstera Deliciosa in the far right corner. Her green pencil skirt and bright red hair made her stand out even more, as if she was the only thing that had color in the big office but the small engraved tablet on the desk certified that she was not there merely by accident. Melissa Royberg, as one could be informed by reading the metal label, was the daughter of Gustav Royberg founder of the RoyCo the biggest, if not the only, and first technology company. Her father had made his fortune by following his dreams when everyone thought he was crazy and managed to built up a colossal enterprise dedicated to take the world one step further at a time. And he had done a pretty good job.

    Truth be told, he was not that lucky in every aspect of his life so far. When Melissa was only 5 years old his wife, her mother, died in an accident involving a tour of Cote d'Azure and a zeppelin that burst out in flames while falling from the sky. Since then Mr. Royberg devoted himself to his company and, of course, above all, to his daughter. He hadn't spoiled her, not really, at least not to the point of turning her to a neurotic brat. he was merely providing for everything she asked and sometimes even more, but as he thought, it was the least he could do. He always felt guilty for his wife's death, blaming himself for the fact that the zeppelin, constructed by his own company, was found so flawed.

    Melissa didn't remember her mother that much, the only things that hold her memory from leaving were a few yellowish photographs back home, which she visited less and less since they bought that penthouse in the city. But still she visited her grave from time to time, imagining how it would be if she was still around, although she has not been nostalgic or bitter for the best part of the last 20 years or so.
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  5. #5
    Lurker Btzú is offline
    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Costa Rica
    Her name was Matilda Gonzalez. She was so proud, so happy. It had been a stroke of luck, the ice cream recipes from her grandmother were superb, she already knew that. But she never could have imagined that the first day of the World Fair could also have been her last.
    In a couple of hours hes dreams were about to disappear ... better... they almost melted in a huge puddle of illusions. It never crossed her mind that something so simple could bring down her plans.
    The morning was hot and the visitors soon began to fill every corner. Every space around her was full of families who sought some form of cooling, the exhibits and and the pavilions were full and the lines under the sun were endless. Her lemon ice cream was an instant hit. She and her two aides were overwhelmed. She realized they were going to need more dishes at about 10 a.m. and immediately sent one of the girls to buy more, but “la condenada” had already be gone for almost 2 hours.
    She knew extreme situations made her find extreme solutions, she simply could not stand there and watch the ice cream melt, the solution was just under her nose. The zalabias! Yes, the zalabias of her syrian neighbor. She just roll up the crisp wafer in a cone-shape and use it to sell her ice cream. Yes!!!! this was definitely her day!
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  6. #6
    The leader of the thieves shot his gun against the ceiling and pieces of concrete fell to the once shiny floor, causing lots of screaming and a couple of women to faint. “If you stay still, everything will be all right.” A second shot to the floor scared the attendees to death. “One wrong move and you're all goners, you hear me?”

    Still holding Mr. Thompson hostage, the poor fat host of the event, the leader moved towards the Red Bullet prototype and jumped into it forcing the other man to come along. “Give me the ignition key,” he ordered Mr. Thompson.

    “I... I don't have it,” the sweaty man replied.

    The thief put his gun in Mr. Thompson's nose and pushed it in his face as if trying to make one of the orifices even bigger. “Give me the keys!” This time, Mr. Thompson just handed them to him as a perfect smile showed in the criminal's face. “This beauty is mine, mine!”

    Turning on the engine, the leader of the thieves signaled his accomplices into leaving the General Motors hall. “Time to go, move, move!”

    “You have to be careful with this prototype”, insisted Mr. Thompson really alarmed. “It's not like driving a regular car...”

    “Get off my back!” The thief hit Mr. Thompson in the face and ignited the car. But the poor hostage was right, the commands were too sensitive and the robber was in such a hurry that the Red Bullet ran at full speed and broke through a wall and ended up in the middle of the Communications building. “Damn it! Damn it!”

    The thief was trying to regain control of the car when a man in a red mask appeared in front of them point a sparkling gun to the driver. “Stop the car, now!” Mr. Black & White had arrived.

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  7. #7
    Lurker Ramuh is offline
    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    The Universe
    The same time about on the other side of the world we meet Wolter Elric White born at Sunday 18 August 1918 at the city of London, he was young man with wild life because of his parent absence. His father was August Elric White great man of science being a university professor for most of his life teaching subjects as math physics biology chemistry and engineering. For the most of his life being troubled and personally researching about other worlds and dimensions maybe parallel to us even been reading Doctor Strange’s theories over the years but never went deep into them. After the loss of his wife and brother in a tragic accident he decided to leave for Russia seeing there will be a more fitting place without people and outside control for his experiments, he went there anonymously rent a house and was ordering machinery and the substances that he needed, money wasn’t a subject for him as he was wealthy. Leaving Wolter at the age of 10 with the housekeeper, they never heard news from him except the check that was sending without an address each month. Today we find him at the age of 21 with knowledge over Physical sciences fields just enough to use them for making his way around, the housekeeper is never going to forget his famous pipe canon or the potato bomb!. Spending money on stunts, gambling and putting himself into fights is his way to deal with the grieving for his parents absence. Overall his a bright energetic young man always with a smile on his face and trying to help ones in need although he doesn’t show any affection or making bonds. His based on his agility dexterity and wits making him able to get himself out of numerous situations, betting on his luck of the draw and streetwise the most, someone could say he’s gambling with his life.

    Present: few days ago June 25th of 1939.

    When this morning Wolter came back home worn out by the last night playing cards he saw the postman on his way out of the yard, the housekeeper after asking him where he has been again told him that they got a letter from his father.
    -So what money again he replied?
    -Wolter you know your father that for 11 years straight he only sends one check every month this has to be a letter.
    -So? Open it.
    As she opens the letters she gets pale and shakes.
    -What’s wrong Wolter said?
    -You see, you see... it says here... That your father is dead and his last request was for you to go to Russia on his last place of living where you will find his will, there is also a one-way ticket here and an address
    -Did they say how he died?
    -No they don’t, it says here that he disappeared for the last weeks, His postman that he was paying for the last year to check on him he was told to warn the authorities if your father was absent more than a week. That’s how according to his will we got this letter and the ticket.
    -Oh disappeared? Absent? That’s a new one for him.
    -Wolter don’t you speak like that for your father.
    -Yeah like he deserves something else leaving me here and being with Russian women right after mum’s death, i hope he’s gone straight to hell. < The irony
    -You should be ashamed speaking like this for him, he was a good man, death changes people you will understand that someday, you should leave immediately as his request.
    -Are you mad? Why the heck i would like to go to Russia? You said it yourself the ticket is one-way only.
    -I’m sure your father has arranged everything through his will
    -Heh i guess I’ll be grabbing the money there and getting myself a first class one for returning huh? Well why the hell not, maybe dads last girlfriend waiting for me there, of course always according to his will.
    -Nonsense pack your things.

    After a week’s journey he arrives to Russia to the address given, just an hour from Saint Petersburg.

    There he finds a two floor house and none to open the door for him as he knocks for a few minutes, when he turns his head he sees an old lady approaching him. She gives him the key and leaves. As he enters the house his nose caught the smell of dust, trapped air and grinded metal, walking through the corridor he enters the living room. It’s looking dead deserted with multiple layers of dust everywhere, his eye caught up to a photograph one with his father, mother his father brother and himself as a kid, it was the only thing in the room without dust. Making his way to the upper floor he founds his father office, a chaotic scene of books papers notes and handmade metal parts. Taking a look is all about space, time, worlds, dimensions, particles of being on the different spaces in the same moment, even some books for ancient civilizations like Incas and the gate of gods, the Moai statuses at Rano Raraku of Easter islands, the Menirs Stonehenge and other remaining. His eye went straight to the huge power control panel on the wall with the description Basement power. He pulls the lever and heads down to the basement, as he enter he sees his father’s work for the past 11 years a one man made lab full of devices and chemicals chalkboards everywhere with notes and in the middle of all those standing a big solid metallic capsule having copperish discoloration all over it like a Deep Submergence Vehicle.

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