#john-paul bove

A rumble blows through and suddenly there is only the darkness.

The heat from the creature’s breath burns at his skin.

Heavy claws scrape across the unknown space.

A wave of sickness passes over him. He stumbles.

His head and throat and feet are heavy, full of blood, he feels as if he’s running through water.

The sounds get closer. Louder.

He cannot move fast enough

The smell, the heat, the sounds get closer.

Closer.

Something sharp moves across his skin–

*******

Dantini woke breathless, tears streaking his face. The dreams were always the same, never able to see what was coming but never able to escape them. He wiped at his face; sobbing, exhausted. He steadied himself, his eyes still wet and lit the lamp by his bedside. The sound, the vibration, that plagued his dreams seemed to be following him into the waking world. The sound of the cicadas outside was so loud, it was bigger than him, everything else was muffled and far away. The repetitious pulse got louder, he tried to shout out to tell them to stop, but he could not hear himself. He attempted to stand but his legs wouldn’t take it. He fell awkwardly, his head pounded. Vomit spattered the teracotta tiled floor

Stumbling into the bathroom he splashed water on his face. The water brought little relief, the night was so hot and humid that the water was too hot. Everything was too hot. It was as hot as hell at this time of the year in Sicily. He swilled out his mouth, his full weight against the ceramic. Standing, he regarded himself in the mirror. The candlelight from the neighbouring room was sufficient for him to know that his reflection was not the one he was familiar with. Even the candlelight could not disguise that the man looking back at him was paler than he remembered, his hair thinned, out of control. He’d not felt himself, he’d not been well since–

The noise pulsed again in his head and his heart. Steady. Low. Loud. He gripped the basin, closed his eyes, hoping for the worst to pass. Louder. The walls seemed to move closer. Louder. Closer. Spinning. The room was smaller than he could cope with.

Dantini stumbled into the night, fireflies strobed in all directions. The sounds of the cicadas like a million discordant voices, the cacophony of night echoing all around him. Underneath it, just beyond it, he imagined he heard a voice. A promise. A promise of greatness, of fame, of fortune.

Louder.

He would be the first to discover something long forgotten. He would be the greatest archeologist in all of Italy, in all of the world. He would shed light on lives forgotten. He would give shape, give substance to those that had become just ideas.

Louder.

He would be loved. She would love him again. He would be idolised. He would be a god. But he would have to keep it secret for now, couldn’t tell anyone the voice said. They would not believe it. Not without proof. The voice made him swear. The voice was everything. “Look up.” the voice commanded.

Softer.

Dantini looked out into the distance and was transfixed by the lone mountain. He knew, he knew he was meant to go there. The fireflies seemed to form a pattern, a trail of light pulsing towards the mountain. Every step closer he felt a burden lift. Every inch closer was a reward. The pulsing slowed. The mountain was becoming all, the mountain was peace, the mountain was destiny. The cicadas, the pulse, it all slowed the closer he got to it. It was release, it was heaven. His limbs felt light, his belly full. Only he could hear the voice, only he could make the discovery. At the foot of the mountain he knew he could not climb the peak alone, not that night. But he also knew his reward was inside, he knew there was someone in there waiting to come out. He dug at the earth, trying to find a way in but underneath was volcanic rock, his fingers raw from the effort. He cried again, not from sickness, but from frustration.

Quieter.

He fell asleep in the dirt. Cool. Quiet. At peace. He slept under the watch of the mountain. It sang to him of course, in the voice of his mother. It promised to sing to him every night he slept in the mountain. It promised him so much. Secret promises that hung like gossamer at the edge of his conscious thoughts. He would be safe. He would be rewarded. Tomorrow he would bring others. Tomorrow he would find a way in. “Every day,” he swore, “Every day is yours. From now until my last breath.” Somewhere far away from the waking world, underneath it all, Dantini heard laughter. For a moment he stirred but the laughter was gone. He was a part of it now. Safe with it. Safe in it.

Silence.

****

To be continued in the comic UnEarth, a one shot comic by John-Paul Bove and Conor Boyle.
 Available digitally from: https://www.comixology.co.uk/UnEarth/comics-series/55380
And as a comic from http://unearth.bigcartel.com/

I asked a little while on my Twitter and FB if people would be interested in seeing a pitch I developed for a Spotlight Metroplex. Some things to bear in mind here that this predates the actual Spotlight Metroplex, and the whole Titan storyline. It also predates Overlord’s appearance by quite a while.

So it’s safe to post because sadly it can never be, but I hope you enjoy a look at what could have been a very different tale, steeped in the Infiltration mythology and set in an undetermined time frame to allow it to be followed up on however future stories saw fit. I wanted to explore the idea of an unintended consequence of the Transformers infiltrations and interference on alien worlds and to explore the idea of evolution and how places can become living things - the Spirit of the Place. Here’s how things could have gone…

Open on a sketch, done in a style circa 1000AD of a few huts. Through pencil sketches, paintings, grainy photographs we see the construction of Metroplex. He was built over centuries, added to, made larger and larger until one point he became a sentient city.

On a double page splash we see the massive expanse that is the city of Metroplex – abandoned.

He wonders at what point he became alive. He finds his records scrambled, damaged somehow… He sees snatches of history, fragments. He sees that a war raged here once, the inhabitants fighting. But there’s something odd, unfamiliar in the records. Symbols he hasn’t seen before, records in an unfamiliar language – Cybertronian. Realises there were mechanical lifeforms there, in secret, in disguise. Digging for something deep in the earth. Watches them transform. He creates a small robot in their image, controlled entirely by him, sets him to work around him, repairing, modifying. Finally fixing a few sensors he discovers an image of one of the symbols on a city in the north – A Decepticon symbol.

Transforming his city into a mobile fortress he heads toward it, tracking a lonely and dusty course across the scorched landscape. Along the way he reviews images from the history of the world (perhaps a seed of something setting up something that is coming down the road). Sees pictures and reads stories of the world’s mythology, of giants that walked the earth like gods and dragons that scourged the skies. Of gods that fell asleep deep beneath the ancient cities. Reaching a vast mountain range he can go no further. Discarding his weaponry he uses it to create another robot to cross the mountain range.

The two small robots separate, each with their own path. Finally one of them discovers the city – Trypticon city. Abandoned, desolate, strewn with corpses and pieces of fallen ‘bots. Using what little information Metroplex has of the world his little robot downloads the information into Trypticon city. A rumble. Violent. The information isn’t going in right, it’s being corrupted. Fragments of the legends are going in. Pieces of the earlier panels. “I” “AM” “A” “GOD!!” The feed goes black.

Elsewhere the other robot, Sixgun stops, sensing something bad, but then sees something in the distance… is that another city?

Back at the mountain range…

THOOM

THOOM

THOOM

Metroplex is distracted, sounds like thunder…

BOOM!

Trypticon, the multi-storey monster, smashes through the mountain range!

Trypticon, like a mech-Godzilla starts to trample through the mighty City of Metroplex. Without armaments Metroplex knows that his history, the records and culture will all be lost. All of the treasures and truths of this city. He begins to transform into one of the heroes in the memory banks, to counter the image of the dragon.

The fight is like nothing seen before. Two giants fighting. The landscape is ripped apart, sonic booms tear from every blow.

Metroplex manages to knock Trypticon down who transforms into his attack mode.

Metroplex is outgunned and taking heavy damage, but he has a plan. He can’t afford for everything to be destroyed - the knowledge, the memories, the art and culture…

Meanwhile Sixgun has made his way to the main generator for the region, where he initiates a massive EMP.

Metroplex initiates a memory dump into Scamper who recoils with pain.

Metroplex transforms back into a city as the Pulse blasts through him and Trypticon - knocking them both off-line.

As the EMP shockwave surges onwards, Scamper drives off a cliff into a water trench, the shockwave passing overhead as he plunges into the water.

Then silence. Dust blows again through the twin cities of Metroplex and Trypticon.

The water shows no sign of Scamper coming back out.

Sixgun lies deactivated, lifeless next to the EMP generator. The sign that was marked “Danger, Overload” has partially fallen down, it now reads - “Overlord”. As we pull back we can see that the facility is actually the Decepticon powermaster Overlord.

Pulling further and further back we see a track and a launch pad. Next to it is a sign reading “The Omega Spaceport - The Supreme Travel Location”

The End?