Not really happy with this issue, when I’m world famous, this one will be editted heavily before the re-release

It’s a little rushed, I had the outline written up in my creative writing class (best course ever!), while the teacher was droning on about creative non-fiction or something. I noticed I was over a month behind on <3C Presents, so I whipped this up in record time.

Speaking of things I wrote in class while I was supposed to be doing something else, here’s a teaser for an upcoming title. The teaser is titled:

Mr Universe on Uncle Sam

“My great-grandfather worked at a movie theatre. He was a ticket collector or something. Back then, the movies were where you went to watch the news. They’d play these newsreels before the movie. When they got a new one, they’d throw the old ones out.

“My great-grandfather would steal the reels from the trash. He knew that what was news then would be history later on. He felt he should keep track of this stuff.

“Turns out he was right. He showed my grandfather, who went on to write books about the Depression. My father is now a war buff.

“Whenever I went to visit my grandfather, he would show me his father’s newsreels. I was a kid at the time, so naturally, the news and history bored the living crap out of me.

“And then one Saturday afternoon I saw <em>him</em>.

“He was running rings around the Nazi’s. Dodging bullets. Bashing skulls in. Flipping jeeps over. I had never seen anything better. Nothing cooler. Now I know it was all propaganda, war recruiting and such, but that didn’t matter. Still doesn’t.

“On the playground, nobody understood. Uncle Sam was just some old guy who used to hang around with Liberty Force. Who cared when there was Coldstar, and Thunderbolt?

“So we’d play. They would fight over Coldstar, Thunderbolt and The Freak. The girls would always play as Talon or Statuesque.

“Me… I always wanted to be Uncle Sam.

“I guess I still do.”

LessThanThree Legends: Uncle Sam, The First American Superhero. Coming soon.

I hope you’re excited. I sure am.

Later Days,

The Author
<3 Comics

The farmer sighed as he looked over his fields. The sickness had spread. His entire sorghum crop was infected already. His main source of income lost to sickness. What was worse, the disease had spread to his cotton crop.

All across Central Africa, farmers were discovering the same thing. A sickness that seemed to blow in on the wind was engulfing all their crops, killing them slowly. Many believed this was a plague they wouldn’t recover from. The end of times. Who could possibly stop the apocalypse?

<><><>

Thunderbolt lifted the pallet-load of bricks from the back of the truck, and carried them to the build site.

“And then the plants wilt and die.” One of the local missionaries explained.

“And none of the usual chemicals can stop it?” Thunderbolt asked, dropping the pallet in front of a group of builders.

“Nothing. The plague has crossed a dozen countries. At this rate, the entire continent will be barren in months.” The missionary continued.

“That is quite unfortunate. You will be in my prayers, and I will speak to my friends in the United Nations. I’ll get you what help I can.” Thunderbolt said.

“Thank you. One more thing. I’ve been hearing reports of people going missing…” The missionary said.

“We’re in a third-world country, Charles, people go missing on a daily basis.” Thunderbolt said.

“Not like this. They go dozens at a time. Whole families. There are hundreds missing. It all started a few months ago.”

“This is a problem I can fix. Tell me more…”

<><><>

Thunderbolt sailed through the cool African air. He had spent the better part of the day questioning locals about the disappearances, tracking them across the savannah. Eventually, he was led to the village where the first disappearance had taken place. Quick reasoning allowed him to discover that many of the initial disappearances were from the same area, a wider radius only developing afterwards. The kidnapper must be around here somewhere.

Which brought him to aerial reconnaissance. A mile above the dark savannah, Thunderbolt could see the wide expanse. Grass as far as the eye can see, the occasional waterhole or rock formation barely breaking the pattern.

Then he spotted it. In the middle of nowhere, a large complex. Ten foot concrete walls surrounded the three-storey building. Iron gates blocked the only way in. The only way in on the ground, that is.

Thunderbolt dropped down into the courtyard with ease, walking towards the building. He barely had time to react to the automated gun turret that opened fire on him. He raised Mjolnir to block the shots, and the bullets ricocheted harmlessly aside, not even scratching the hammer’s surface.

He smiled. ‘No reason to hold back now’. He thought to himself.

He charged at the turret, and ripped it from its mounting, before bending the barrel completely in half.

He turned and faced the front door. Reinforced steel stared back at him. Almost a challenge for the man who wielded the same power as Thor. Thunderbolt raised his hammer in the air and pounded against the door. It didn’t stand a chance. A loud crash rang through the night, as the steel was ripped from its hinges and flew across the room.

Thunderbolt stepped through the doorway, and looked around. The room was essentially plain. Black tiles, white walls, stainless steel doors. Nothing of interest. Except for a massive plasma screen TV on the far wall, which switched on the moment Thunderbolt stepped near it.

“Thunderbolt. Of course. I should have expected you.” On-screen appeared a middle-aged man, wearing a lab coat, a pair of safety goggles sitting atop his slightly balding head.

“Professor Pathogen? You’re behind this?” Thunderbolt was shocked.

“OF COURSE I AM! Who else could engineer a plague so perfect that it eradicates ONLY crops. It leaves wild plants alone, and leaves the human race at my ransom!” The man on the screen replied, before laughing maniacally.

“You’re behind the plague too?” Thunderbolt asked.

“Too? You mean you’re not here about the destruction I’ve rained down upon these sick, weak people? You’re not here to try to stop me from taking over the world?”

“No. But I’m glad you told me that. I get to take care of business twice now. What I’m here about is the people you’ve been kidnapping.” Thunderbolt said.

“Kidnapping? Hahahaha. You’re here about those insignificant lab-rats? Here! Take them!”

The stainless steel doors opened, and dozens of people shuffled through, surrounding the hero.

“What have you done to them?” Thunderbolt demanded.

“I’ve improved them. Before, they lived useless lives, dying of ‘nature’’s diseases, starving, and being miserable. I took that all away. All the pain. All that pesky ‘free will’. I’m more than just a one-trick pony, my friend. I created a virus, which forces these people to be my mindless zombie slaves!” Professor Pathogen said.

“You… That’s despicable!” Thunderbolt exclaimed.

“That’s progress. Attack! My Horde! Attack!”

The mindless drones surged forward, grabbing at Thunderbolt, pounding at him with their fists and feet.

Professor Pathogen let out one last maniacal laugh, before the screen switched off. Moments later, the sound of a roaring engine echoed through the compound, and through the doorway Thunderbolt could glimpse a jeep driving out the front gate.

He struggled to reach the door through the increasing zombie horde. Shoving the drones aside, not wishing to harm them. They were good people once.

As the mindless men continued breaking knuckles and toes on Thunderbolt’s near-impervious flesh, he slowly made his way across the room. As they clawed him, bit him, and scratched him, he pushed through. Never giving in, never pausing. Thunderbolt pressed through the dozens of innocent men, until he reached the open air.

Thunderbolt laughed, as he took off into the sky, leaving the mindless zombies on the ground below.

“Professor! I’m coming!” He boomed. Like a bolt of lightning, he flew, landing directly in front of the Professor’s jeep, which crashed straight into the hero, at full speed. The jeep crumpled like it had hit a building, Professor Pathogen flew out of the driver’s seat and sailed through the air. Thunderbolt caught the villain in mid-air, saving his life.

“Now, I’m going to march you back there, and you’re going to fix those men, and then you’re going to stop your plague in its tracks.” Thunderbolt ordered.

“Hahahaha. You think those people can be cured? My virus eats their brains. That’s what truly makes them zombies! Even when the virus is gone, their brains are so damaged that nothing can bring them back!” Professor Pathogen gloated.

Thunderbolt threw him to the ground roughly.

“You take pleasure in causing others pain? Let’s see how you like it!” Thunderbolt roared, picking him back up again and punching him in the stomach.

“Go on. Kill me. My plague is already unleashed. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop it without me.” Professor Pathogen said.

“You’re right.” Thunderbolt said, tearing the seatbelt from the jeep, and tying the Professor to the driver’s seat of the incapacitated vehicle. “Stay here. I’ll be back for you, if the lions haven’t eaten you yet.”

Thunderbolt took off into the air. ‘Those poor men. Forced to walk the earth, mindless, soulless. I have to do something…’

He returned to the lab and looked down at the hundreds of mindless, damaged men staring back up at him. With tears in his eyes, he began reciting the Last Rites.

“May God have mercy on your souls.” He said, raising Mjolnir into the air, as lightning rained down upon the horde, vaporising them all, eradicating any trace of their existence, and hopefully all traces of the virus which had damned their bodies.

With a heavy heart, he glided back to the imprisoned super-villain.

<><><>

“Thunderbolt, I can’t thank you enough. Professor P. has been wreaking havoc all over the world. We were still looking for him in Guatemala.” The lead United Nations Against Super-Humans and Enhanced Defence (U.N.L.E.A.S.H.E.D) agent said.

“Not at all, Special Agent. I understand you’re stretched a little thin right now. The missing Boomers must be creating a lot of extra work for you agents, not to mention the Defenders team.” Thunderbolt replied.

“You have no idea. Makes me glad those kids found Talon and The Freak in the Shadow Plane a few weeks ago.”

“What? What kids?”

“Ummm… The Brat Pack, and about twenty of their friends. Hyper Girl was in amongst them too.”

“I think I’ve been away from home for too long. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“We’re keeping tabs on them. They’re doing a pretty good job, by all accounts.”

“Well, if they defeated the Order of Darkness to free the Boomers, they’re very powerful. I barely survived my last fight with them.”

“These kids pressed the numbers advantage for all it was worth, as far as I can tell, not to mention they seemed to know they were coming.”

“A victory against evil still stands, Special Agent. I trust your team can finish cleaning up Pathogen’s lab?”

“Of course, sir. We’ll have him engineer a cure for this thing as soon as possible.” The agent saluted. “Oh, and sir, I’m sorry about the innocents. There was nothing else you could do.”

“Thank you, Special Agent. It doesn’t make it any easier.” Thunderbolt took off into the air.

“Poor guy. All the power in the world, and a conscience to match.” The Special Agent said, before heading back to his team.

<><><>

Thunderbolt floated above the African plains. He stared off into the distance, as he prayed for each and every one of the men he had culled the previous night. His tears were unceasing, as he hoped they had found peace.

He took a deep breath, and let it out. ‘No time for that. There’s work to be done.’ He thought to himself.

He turned, and faced south east. ‘There’s a drought in Australia.’

He rocketed off into the distance.

<><><>