“I’m ready, I want to be at home with my grandson” he says, a look of longing in his eyes, longing for home comforts, longing for quality time spent with loved ones.
Or was it longing for the opportunities he was about to miss out on?
I can’t help but smile, I can’t help but be moved, because I know it’s not the latter, he’s leaving for the right reasons; he’s leaving for just reasons.
He’s leaving our fam to be with his own.
This is it, this was properly it
Oh blimey, now what am I going to do?
Of all the people to turn me down, turn all this down, why him?
If I were a little less kind, a little less tolerant, I would be cursing out Ryan Sinclair right now for not speaking out about this, to convince Graham to stay, that he’s his own man with his own life to lead. Graham has so much more of the universe to see before he slips away.
I can’t tell when that’ll be, I can’t tell when the cancer will take hold of him again, all I know is I’ve lost my window to remind him every day that he should not let that scare him out of doing anything extraordinary.
Yaz tells him she’s going to miss him, she’ll miss him far more than she thinks, and I’ll miss the calming influence he has on her. I feel young Yasmine will be quite a handful to me going forward if that shove from earlier in the mission was any indication.
She seems so possessive, she’s afraid of letting go, like I’m all that tethers her to some meaningful purpose in life.
It’s not fair, I tell the universe, why must I carry on while everyone stays behind? As it pertains to Yaz, just why do I need to bear this burden of personal responsibility? Is it some kind of karmic punishment for defying the will of The Judoon? For escaping their justice?
Am I being told to grow a little? Maybe a lot?
Can’t help but think these thoughts, they always course through me whenever situations like this arise; I’m left wondering what I could have done to make things right, or different.
Oh no, now he wants a hug. That’s certainly different.
Still, it might just be one of the few things I can do right by him in this situation.
Were it not for social awkwardness, it’d be more than a hug.
My face tells the whole story, a long drawn out feature made of missed opportunity and wasted time, how inappropriate given my very calling as a time and space traveller.
He thanks me for everything…no, dearest Graham, thank you.
He prepares to leave; I can’t let him go, not after receiving a taste of his warmth, of his generosity, of his love.
I beckon him over and we all come together in one last unified circle of friendship and family, our arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists, I hold Graham closest to me, his immediate present about to become my inevitable past, and I would no longer be a part of his future.
“Bye fam” I say.
And then he goes, Ryan in tow, and we’re alone.
Yaz is with me, but whether or not she truly is altogether there will be for our time together to decide.
For now, I am left with my thoughts.
And all I can think of is just how unfair it all is.
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When I was young, I loved being the right age. For me, the right age was any number between when you first learn to crawl and when you first learn to kiss.
The latter was always the trickiest part to navigate through childhood. It was a treacherously slippery slope, and you could not so easily walk back on it unless the other participant was incredibly selfless and would let you on your way, never to speak of it again.
The kiss could come at any time, at any age, and when it does you’re suddenly left with all sorts of responsibilities.
If it is an aunt, your grandmother, even your own mother, or an over enthusiastic father, uncle or cousin then the kissing is relieved of its responsibility. It is something that embarrasses you, but it still sets you free.
The kissing with increased responsibility can surface at any such occasion regardless, it can happen at a party, a friend’s party, a relatives’ party…why, even your party.
Just imagine that, at your own party, on your own terms, life can surprise you in such a cruel and swift way. You can proceed from the right age through to the wrong time.
And the person that kisses you would then ask what I would do with my time, and her time, and then you’d have to think on your feet. What would you say? If words were currency, how would you spend it?
That’s when you think back to all the stories you read when you were the right age, the story of heroic knights valiantly fending off hordes of creatures too nightmarish to contemplate, all to prove something to a fair minded maiden who carried with her a torch by night that lit her way through the lecherous woodlands.
These creatures, that inhabited the cold and fearful forest, had curious customs as they swam in the dark.
Whenever the embers of the flame flickered, they would flinch and rally behind the other, encouraging one to push forward ahead of the other, and dare them to take the torch from the maiden, avoiding the knights altogether.
They would flicker, they would whisper, and that was when they would take a swift breath and blow the fiery embers out, plunging, and plaguing, the maiden and the knights with darkness everlasting, and driving them down the routes they were familiar with back to the safety of their castle.
I would think back to those stories, and I would tell them to those who drove the kisses forward, the ones that would love to know how I would spend my time in their company.
They would offer me their hand, they wished to lead me into their light, but through this story, I would make it abundantly clear I would much prefer to swim in the dark.
I had taken the power from them, and if they came to me with a knight in their corner, to show what I could have been, i would look past them too.
And I would just swim in the dark,
After all, I was still the right age, and this was the right time to start acting like it.
At the top of the month, I released Hell Bent-Another Fanedit, which I said would be the first of two projects that made use of the ending of ‘The Husbands Of River Song’, this is the second of those projects, an ideal jumping off point for Peter Capaldi fans (I do like Jodie and series 11 and 12 aren’t nearly as bad, problematic for their preachiness yes, but not unbearable to watch)
The traffic had been merciless in this most crucial race against time, but Archibald ‘Archie’ Worthington was driven to beat it.
“Come along man, just another avenue to turn into and we’ll make it” he bellowed to his chauffer as he took another bite of his muffin.
“In good time sir, as soon as we’re clear of the van ahead of us, we’ll be where we need to be”
Archie sighed, his patience had all but eroded, and now he had to deal with patronising reassurances.
“Can we not state such impossible things?” he asked
“What’s so impossible about what I just said?” asked the curious chauffer.
“No one can tell us where we truly want to be, there’s always a different time, a different place, a whole world of ideal possibility forever distant from the present we live in”
“But sir, surely the destination in the present is what’s important”
“What’s important today is what was sacrificed yesterday”
The door to the right side of him opened and another person leaned in, wearing a strange assortment of clothes and colours, a bright and mostly tacky yellow blazer covered in question marks, a panama hat, and a large brown duffle coat. Above his head sheltering him from the downpour of rain was an umbrella with a handle also shaped like a question mark.
“Whatever are you doing man?”
“A storm’s brewing; may I come in for a bit of crumpet?”
“You most certainly will not”
“I may not will anything to be so? My will won’t take kindly to that” the man continued
“How did you pick the lock?” Archie asked.
“What lock?” the impish man replied.
“This car can only be opened from the inside”
“That’s just it, I happen to be inside”
“On the outside, there is nothing but space, we are inside the Earth, a ship forever lodged in harbour, we shelter within its skin, every one of us is a prisoner. Every so often we riot. Every now and then we pay the price for it”
Archie was weary, more of this strange man’s ramblings; he tapped on the window separating him from the chauffer.
“Do you have something to do with this?”
“He looked drenched sir, thought I’d take pity and give him a lift”
“Real heart on sleeve protocol” Archie replied, flabbergasted
“That’s what they tell me” the chauffer said, a satisfactory smirk on his face.
“See, simple answer for everything” Archie responded to the man.
“Those you serve always say that when the
Archie sensed the stranger was speaking more of his language and cooled his jets in regard to his rising temper.
“Are you headed my way?” he asked calmly.
“A friend of mine is giving a sermon at this very moment, circumstances will soon force me to travel, I’d like to wish her god’s grace and speed before I do”
“Then you might as well come in if you so wish”
“I don’t wish, I will”
“Will that do?” Archie responded.
The man folded up his umbrella and clambered into the limousine, prompting Archie to move
“Do you have a name?”
“I’m The Doctor”
“Doctor eh? I suppose one always has to be on standby on this sort of occasion, some of us are a bit steep in age at this point. Comfortable are we?”
“Couldn’t really tell you at the moment, we’ve just met”
The Doctor eyed the Smith and Wesson on Archie’s lap, his demeanour changed from lively to sombre.
“No, on second thoughts, I shouldn’t be all too comfortable”
Archie took note of the man’s swift discomfort, and chuckled.
“Oh don’t let this hunk of metal trigger you man, ’tis but a memento of past glory, nothing more”
“Today is the not a day to bask in glory, it is to commit to memory” The Doctor reminded him.
“Whenever are we getting a move on man?” Archie asked incessantly, sensing he was about to be lectured and not willing to put up with a second of it were it about to slip loose from this most righteous Doctor’s lips.
The chauffer spotted a man approaching the van with some camera equipment in his hands and lowered his window to inquire about the hold-ups they were continuing to experience.
“Excuse me, we are in a bit of a hurry, when can we expect your van to move?”
“My apologies sir, we’re filming something special for the regional bulletins, we should be good to go in a few more minutes”
“Great, puff piece remembrance stories, the media are such parasites; can’t we have the rest of the day to ourselves?”
The Doctor pressed his fingers against the tip of his lips, whatever he wanted to say, he felt it would fall on the deafened ears of this individual.
Before long, and true to the camera technician’s word, the BBC news team finally finished their work and headed back over to their van, the van in turn sped off down the street, allowing the limacine and every car trailing behind it to press on.
The limo did not have further to travel, it pulled up beside King’s Chapel Church, which had been at the centre of the regional news, for it was the first remembrance sermon to be given there by one of the initial wave of newly anointed female ministers.
The Doctor and Archie stepped through the hallowed doors of the church and took their seats.
Archie wondered why The Doctor was keeping so close to him, it unnerved him greatly.
“Would you mind finding somewhere else to sit?” he asked.
“I’d prefer to keep my eyes trained on your glory, you’ve taken it in with you” The Doctor noted.
“What makes you so sure there’s a bullet in it?”
“Guns I find make the most terrible possessions when they are so far removed from their purpose and function. There’s always the temptation to load them”
“No innocent blood will be shed this day, you have my guarantee”
“Archibald, you know as well as I do, today is not just to remember the noble or the innocent”
The two remained silent as the sermon, performed by one Judith Winters, commenced.
“They say God is tribal, that there are two sides, the renegade devils and the imperial angels. Try as they might, the imperials cannot stave off the incursion of the renegades on Earth as they do in Heaven.
For Earth is at the centre of their great and ceaseless struggle. Human souls are tested and challenged on a basis so constant, that to the eyes of a timeless child native to uncharted stars it must be compelling to see this everlasting battle amongst the living, not knowing if where they dine next is at the table of our saviour, or at the behest of the devil himself.
The child must look down upon the Earth in wonder, amusement, but perhaps, just perhaps, it looks down on us in shame.
I believe in this child, one came to me, when I was lost, used by those that served in wars fought so long ago, who had lost their way of life to the steps taken forward by our evolving and ever blessed world.
They had been tested, but their experiences had blinded their souls to the awakening that opens our eyes to all that is splendid and right, and they sought to exploit the generations under them, to treat them as if they were their personal weapons.
I spent so many years locked away in my own private corner of the globe, readjusting, trying to convince myself I was not a weapon purposed for evil, that I was a design of the divine.
In your time on this earth, when you are tested, look to your child, your guardian angel, your Ace of Hearts, and ponder what they will forge you into”
The sermon came to a close and the church emptied, but not before a young mother and child approached Judith singing nothing but praise on her.
“That was a lovely sermon Reverend, what inspired it?”
“Just a story from my childhood Mrs. Cooper”
“Well, young Gwen and I loved it, didn’t we dumpling?”
Young Gwendolyn Cooper was a little distant, her eyes trained on The Doctor as he politely raised his hat in salutations to her, in acknowledgement of deeds not yet performed by her on Earth.
“When we get back to Cardiff we’ll be sure to tell her all about it. It’ll do her a lot of good” Mrs. Cooper jubilantly spoke, she took her daughter’s hand and she left the church.
Once the church was emptied, Judith blew out the last of the ceremonial candles and took a much needed glass of water.
The Doctor approached her.
“It was a tale well told Reverend Winters, but nobody ever thinks about what comes after, that’s just our lot, in all our lifetimes”
“It’s as if God takes you to a certain place, then takes both eyes off of your presence on his Earth, leaving you stranded in the dangerous currents, his back turned as you struggle for years to cling to the safety of the holy surface, the holy land”
“What you served was worse than any devil” The Doctor spoke, reminding her of remembrances past.
“Even the devil fell from heaven” Judith responded.
The Doctor opened the palm of his hand, a small drop of rain dropped onto it; he glanced upwards, staring at the ceiling above.
“You really should get someone to fix the roof. It’d do you a lot of good to shelter from the approaching storm while you can, before war is thrust upon you, as it is now thrust upon me”
“If war is to come, are you ready for it?”
“I can step onto every battlefield there has ever been on your planet, I can step forward onto every conflict that is yet to come”
“But are you ever truly prepared for it?”
“I’m not surprised when I see it, but I’m always sad, especially the ones when there is no chance for remembrance. Humans are fortunate to have it, be against an alien or native instigator. With the devils you served, unless I’m involved, there is never a chance”
Judith had to ask the question, encouraged more by curiosity than faith.
“Then you are an angel?”
“I am a champion”
“Of the word?”
“Are you here to respect my gospel, or here to glorify your own?”
“I came to say I failed. I failed you, that I underestimated their cruellest of capabilities, the indoctrination of children into their nefarious ways, no better than what the most inhumane of humans did during the second of the great wars, that’s not even the worst thing”
“What is the worst thing?” Judith asked.
“That even now I’m still failing”
The sounds of a gun barrel being locked into position made both of them turn.
“You were right Doctor, the temptation was there to resist, but do not take it as a sign of weakness, more of strength. For war is not just to remember the noble, we must also take heed of the sin, and that woman right there is ripe with it”
He approached Judith, his eyes glaring into hers, showing nothing but contempt, and hate.
“At last, I’ve got you where I want you”
“I do not recognize your face, but I understand your intent. Are you prepared?” Judith responded.
“For everything you did to my mates, who weren’t so well prepared for the war you brought to their shares, you dare ask me this?
“Archibald, listen…” The Doctor pleaded.
“She is in service of the Daleks, foreign devils, worse than anything Adolf threw upon us, I see that now. They were on no side but their own. Mike and Mister Radcliffe, they paid the price for that”
“Are you of relation to the men I killed decades ago?” Judith asked.
“We were all drinking buddies, we formed our own clique, The Association, a brotherhood bonded in a belief that the rivers of blood will not course through this nation’s veins. Mike Smith paid the price for placing his trust in the generations that have come to lead this world”
“She had no choice” The Doctor responded angrily.
“And she does now?” Archie said, his hand trembling.
The Doctor could see the fear in the man, but he was too stubborn to end his provocation.
Judith’s eyes flickered with a spark, she thought it’d might have been the flash of a camera but the press had long since come and gone.
Something was different about her. She felt no fear from the man aiming the gun at her, but from the unquestionable thirst she felt to punish him for drawing a weapon and message of malice into a holy land.
It was a righteous fury, she did not know if it belonged to her, or to God.
“You brought this devil out of me, God would never entrust the church to the designs of those that had cast the first man from Eden”
“Both bore the brunt of responsibility that day, they breached the laws laid down upon them and we all must pay for those sins to earn our way back there” The Reverend persisted, but Archie would hear none of it.
“The law is in my hands now, and I will not see you speak in the name of anyone, lord or law, ever again” he cried, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot was fired, the bullet rapidly approached its target, The Doctor stood firm, and he closed his eyes in dread anticipation of what was to come.
The bullet froze in mid-air and the small damp raindrops leaking from the roof also froze some fizzling with energy, they could shock someone at the slightest touch.
“No shelter from the storm” The Doctor said, crossing his hearts.
“What’s happening?” Archie spoke in alarm.
“You were so busy making deals with the devil, you never once thought to ask it to dance”
The energy ignited from the reverend in a ferocious manner, the interior of the church was set ablaze with a torrent of electronic fire which reignited the extinguished candles and reduced some of the pews to charred splinters.
Judith opened her mouth to speak, but nothing let slip from it but more unfathomable levels of power, electrical bolts danced and diced in and around the petrified Archie, he could shield his eyes, but not his spirit, which bent all too easily to the will of this hellacious being that he had awakened.
The gun slowly contorted, and broke down into molten metal that spread all over Archie’s hand, he screamed in the holiest of terrors as the liquid steel touched his hand, severely burning it.
He collapsed to the floor, tears pouring down his frail cheeks, clutching his right hand in searing pain, looking up at the heavens as the imperial angel stood in judgement of him.
And then, the energy cut off, Judith slowly descended, her great power faded, and she sank to the floor. Weary, but well.
Small sobs could be heard from her.
The Doctor knelt down and put a comforting arm around her.
“This is how I failed you, I didn’t cut the cord from the Daleks when I could have, I couldn’t, I knew there would come a time where I required you to serve that power, at a specific time and place, a time of war”
“What sort of war would permit this devil’s design?” Judith said in between wails of sorrow.
“A war of time” The Doctor replied solemnly.
“What makes you think I will fight?”
“I would never ask you to fight, merely to offer suggestions and ideas to our side of the struggle, a weapon forged by one side now in use of another, all for a greater purpose , the power that goes with it need not be in service of the Daleks, but in service of every divine soul in creation. For the sake of every untested soul”
Judith composed herself, she felt the righteous fury dissipate, and instead entered a state of perfect grace, as if her personal truth was telling her all would be well
“I was left so broken the last time, so helpless. Can you guarantee me liberty after?”
The Doctor already knew the answer; he was in his third incarnation at the time when he paid a visit to an asylum with Josephine Grant and one of their less than routine matters in the year 1999, at the turn of the millennium, an asylum Judith Winters once more graced the halls of, having had a relapse, having once again retreated into herself.
Cut off from all masters she could serve, cast out from the light.
In order for her to be useful, one of them had to believe. It might as well be him.
Believe for her, and believe in her.
“You will live, I assure you. That’s all anyone can do after war is through with us. Live”
Judith took his hand, and they made their way towards the doors, towards the rain and the storm.
Archie, still squirming on the floor, crippled and in agony, demanded to ask one last thing of the angels that had denied the demon his due.
“Why? Why was I spared?”
The Doctor glanced over at him, his eyes piercing into Archie and somehow managing to fill the pits of whatever remains of his soul with terror and anguish.
It would be so easy to stop if they were there. The children.
All huddled ’round him, some hiding behind the sofa, but fear not, he would coax you out with the voice of assurance, but maybe not greet you quite with a smile.
You see, he was a little scared too, just as they would be.
Suppose they were here though. Whatever would he say to them?
Suppose they were all there watching him at this very moment, interrupting him at this most delicate and desperate of hours, where the slightest distraction or indulgence in pretence could result in a costly fate, for him, and his friends, even the very Earth and the way of life for all of civilisation as he and his companions knew it.
And he imagines, for the audience that wasn’t there also.
But then, his very imagination was what was most concerning him.
Imagining just one singular child, aged no lesser than four, wandering the rail way tracks, seeking her friends who were hidden from her sight, and she found this hapless little hobo attempting a meekly sort of sprint along the tracks of the vast subterranean London Underground rail system.
And she sits herself down next to him. Right there, on the tracks, playing with her fingers, nibbling them with her delicate teeth, twisting and twirling the curls in her hair, waiting for this man to say something and justify his presence to him.
Imagine that child was several.
Confound it all, there was that problem again, the imagination running away from The Doctor, and the farthest it could possibly be from control. It wasn’t content to satisfying less.
How does he react to this?
Let him think now child, let him think. Don’t stare.
He thinks, he muses, and in a fleeting moment of quiet, having lost himself on the rail tracks of the London Underground, he commits to the pretence. He would dare the distraction.
If only because he’s put enough distance between him and his enemies to indulge his habit.
He has earned this. A little play to broaden the mind, to compliment the work.
To satisfy the child not just in him, and perhaps, if there were anyone in the heavens or beyond watching, to satisfy the child in all of them or any that belong to them too.
He would feign fright at first, to give the invisible children some form and substance, to heighten his anxiety in a manner not even fit for calm. Part of the dare was the confidence to be as bombastic as possible.
He would remind this audience that there was a back-story, and placed his current circumstances as something further along in his future…for the children, the story hadn’t happened yet, it was all yet to come, that would give him an apt opportunity to determine whether or not he would survive the ordeal, and if he did not, well, the children would only know of what happened when he was alive, and imagine the rest. Indeed, he would go on living in their own minds.
He was starting to wonder if the increase in anxiety and the belief the net was tightening around him were cutting off the oxygen to his brain.
Children of his imagination have imaginations too? Dream state within dream state? It was a fascinating puzzle, one he had no time to immediately solve with any form of attentiveness.
After all, every infant in life comes from nothing and everything all at once.
If they were real, if they perhaps become real someday, then all of what he had thought of just before would form part of what he had to say
And this is how he’d say it.
“Oh, oh thank goodness, it’s you, I thought for one moment it was…ah, well let me sit down for a moment here, I’m glad I met you as a matter of fact, there’s something I want to tell you, when we start out on our next adventure, Jaime, and Victoria, and I, we meet some old friends, yes, but we also meet some old enemies. Very old enemies, the Yeti as a matter of fact, and this time, they’re just a little bit more frightening than the last time. So I warn you, if your mummy and daddy are scared, you just get them to hold your hand”
He clasped his hands together to make a sharp and audible noise, and this drew the attention of The Yeti as they came charging down the tunnel.
“Oh, got to go, see you soon” he said, panicking, he got to his feet and dashed off.
Confound it all, this is why I have no time for intermission he thought.
There are evils present that act against everything I believe in. They must be fought.
And so, he bids the children who aren’t there, a very fond goodnight.
Joel Cass, lord coordinator of the encyclopaedic universal matrix received another notification as he made his morning coffee.
The mug was piping hot, and not one trace of liquid had passed through his lips, travelled down his throat, and warmed the pits of his stomach.
And given how thorough his response was going to be, he didn’t bet on the mug retaining its warmth.
She’d been telling him this for months.
Strict, concise, to the point, and direct.
‘This obsession with our sources, it’s stalker like’
Joel had the solution.
Another ten or so thousand videos on the subject.
He’d add it to the list.
Most of the videos scheduled for today would be live casts, casts with all of his friends, the thousands of members he had acuminated over the centuries.
People who hung on every infectious word he uttered.
They knew what was up; they knew who was in the right.
The almighty Joel. He was the hero of this story, if one fancied this maddening game of one-upmanship over hearsay and rumour currency a story worth telling.
A game of one-upmanship between the most supreme good and the most condemned form of evil.
But as the one guy who always called him out of concern would tell him, heroes aren’t defined through proclamation alone.
They are defined by action.
And every now and then, this woman, the wife of the individual he had classified as a disinformation artist, would send him crudely worded e-mails reflecting her frustrations, pleas, accusations and questions, all directed at the content of Joel’s character.
They would urge him to reconsider his mission in life
And in turn, his true friends would reach out before any of the members of his podcasts would, trying to be the voice of purest reason and thought
Where are your reviews? Why aren’t you paying attention to Universe M? Where your favourite heroes are stationed?
How goes their days?
Why not discuss something of value that you know, from collecting and archiving their date on a week to week basis, has happened to them? What lessons they learned along the way? Explore what is known to you, not what is out of your reach.
Why should rumour and speculation concerning your timeless idol, a traveller across all the realms you observe, be of such importance to you?
After all, you do not believe with your own eyes in the very timelessness of the idol. You believe that it walks in a straight and linear line, with a defined beginning, middle, and a history you’re familiar with
You do not see an end in sight, but constantly fear the journey comes to a halt if people do not take to the revelations that come with what is now known about the idol.
Were it come to a halt, it would further no change. You would have your way.
Yet if it stops, the change remains, there would be no want nor need for it to walk back on its newfound purpose and point of origin.
It would remain timeless in a whole other way.
So you resist it.
You argue to those who will listen in your reports that those that guide the idol are telling us a lie, they are telling us it is something it’s not, that it remains very much the same being it was known to be when it embarked on the journey. No way can this stand as truth, no way can this stand as change within reason.
You spread that word, and yet the word you are obsessed with is one that suggests the idol in its’ present form is leaving us.
Your sources, their word against those in the wife’s camp, had assured you otherwise. Videos and pictures of the idol in transits, heading towards its new destinations, would later crop up seemingly to back this up, to vindicate your sources.
To vindicate yourself.
Critical as you are of the ways the idol goes about itself these days, your devotion to its exact activities cannot be wrong.
So you spread word across the community chain the source of this gossip is false, that the rumour cannot be created if there is a reality contradicting it.
And you remember everything your source
You insist people trust in your word, in your knowledge, your memory, of events that you were privy to, memories of truths that were spoken only to you. Assurances made to you.
But if you can also remember, you weren’t really there.
You weren’t where your ‘sources’ were Joel.
You’ve never truly been where they are, you are only going on the stories they lead you by.
And in the meantime all the universes you monitor closely, the M, the Ds, the Cs, the Wilderness and beyond, they all have their own heroes, their own idols, on their own travels, overcoming their own hardships, and we never hear much about what you personally make of them.
There are no heroes bar you Joel Cass, co-ordinator of the encyclopaedic matrix.
Now look at the contents of your mug, and then examine the content of your character.
“When Peter Parker makes a crucial mistake and accidentally reveals his true identity, his beloved Aunt May becomes the victim of a cruel and deadly attack. While playing chess, Peter is approached by a mysterious stranger who offers to make his world a little better…at the cost of his relationship with his soul mate May Jane Watson. Peter makes a deal with this devil and his world is turned upside down. Now Peter finds himself playing a dangerous game, while the world and everyone he loves within it becomes the plaything of not just Mephisto, but also Blackheart, his son”
Well, here it is at last. The release of the first draft of my keenly anticipated Spider-Man 4 project. I hope you enjoy it, give feedback if you can, it was a very tricky edit to pull off and I am aware there are numerous technical/framerate issues, hopefully they’re not too off putting. I intend to comb through this again at some point. (Apologies for the lousy quality of the Wandavision music attached to this trailer, I could not find a clear enough version)