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About me
Howdy. This is the prestigious home of Commander Thunderush the Grand Observer. I am more commonly known as Commander Thunderstreak, but I like to abbreviate my name with the initials U.S.H. for the branch of service I am assigned with. It is a sampling of the acronym P.U.S.H., the Parliament of Unilateral Security Headmasters, a band of solitary security personnel who work on their own without impact on others. We are a group of freelance agents tasked with running private investigation establishments that coordinate their operations as a cohesive unit from fixed distances, acting as a web of defense rather than a loud and oft haughty group of rowdy, ungraceful police, SWAT teams, soldiers. The quieter our activities, the better. PUSH employed men and woman guard society in exchange for payment and pension, but not glory. Our titular motto forbids it. "The finest justice is delivered with a push, not a shove." You can't be the showy guy who lets the ego flush out principles of sense and lawfulness, or the bumbling cluster overloaded with too many people that descends into chaos because they can't be controlled due to their whopping size. Big images are dangerous. I joined the organization and started my own detective agency long ago. Except the time I live in is rife with wanton terrorism.
I was caught in a severe attack on my headquarters, targeting the members of PUSH for reasons I have yet to fully ascertain. I heard that there was a leak in PUSH's web of information. An inside man, perhaps? Whoever they are, I have yet to aggressively thank them for fourteen months of traction. The assault against my HQ brought down the building, torched my case files (thank goodness for personal and shared computer backups donated to me from others in PUSH- we co-collaborate casework to build relationships, learn tricks of the trade from each other, and strategies which make our solving and understanding of these cases easier and smoother), and left me half-buried in the wreckage with the weight of the rubble crushing me. Know what's even worse? Getting barbecued by flames licking at my pinned down body. These injuries were extraordinarily crippling. They required a special procedure known as nano-conversion to heal me back to 100%. Because of my affiliation with PUSH, a special genius found me and recruited my talents. Bless his soul. However, it made my name a lot larger and more ever-present in society, though I was in a place with enough protection to compensate for the added danger of becoming a bigger target. In spite of expectations, the larger public eye has been quite helpful to me. I use it to promote heroism and goodwill, and I actively say that one must remain vigilant and humble to conduct the nuances of law enforcement.
I am a keenful eye of the Internet and a clever-witted warrior for justice. Oh... and I have cybernetic powers. I was brought into being by a scientist and professor named Doctor Kyle Silverhelm, the one who called me under his wing. He bestowed me with the power to control all wavelengths of electricity and alter my body into new forms based on what I analyze, much like a Chameleon circuit. Now, I have yet to tell my mother about what has happened to me. I asked PUSH not to inform her of my decrepit state and the attacks because it would worry her. Instead, we put up a front and said I was going into an undercover mission and would contact her through video from time to time (a computer-generated image of a healthy me, while injured me sat in a hospital wrapped in gauze and morphine tubes). I still haven't told her because I want her to picture me as I was when I moved away from home. Even if she doesn't mind, she might become too worried about me and get wrapped up in the danger.
As for dear old dad, he is... indisposed. No, no, not as in estranged. He's just waiting for the right medical treatment to come about for an uncured disease in a stasis pod. Mom said she would wait for him, and has used top of the line treatments to preserve her age, well-being, and beauty.
Encounters with the Doctor
Believe it or not, I have met the Doctor. Twice. Met Eight perchance but he quickly ran away in panic. Mistook me for a Cyberman because I was suited up for combat in robotic plating. I disengaged my armor to show him I was humanoid underneath the shell. He mentioned a bad experience with them trying to flood the world. What's sad is, he had yet to enter into the battle that would ruin his life. From my databanks, I had records of the Time War. I did my best to prepare him for what was on the horizon. Still... his attitude was soft and kind... so vulnerable to war... I checked up on him later in the history banks. He changed into something terrible. An old man with a world-weary appearance. ...But who?
I bumped into his twelfth incarnation by happenstance when I was experimenting with time stabilizers. They malfunctioned and caused a cronal lapse that hurtled me into the future! That's when I meant him, the eccentric chap who hides his name like an armadillo tucks himself in his shell. Speaking of which, there are details of this experience that I have to hide! At the moment, I can't tell you much. I must be careful not to reveal too much about the future. All I know is Eleven went out with a bang, and this new fellow he turned into is scared shedless about his future, about becoming something menacing, the Valeyard, as he calls it. He wanted me to help him avoid spawning this "Valeyard" at any price. 'Ol Doc noticed my intelligence and begged me for help, but I told him I had to get back to my time, since I only got to his in a freak accident. He conjectured we should form a psychic link. And so we tried to link minds and learn more about each other. He was very careful to lock away his head so that I couldn't snoop. I did the same on my end.
But the funny thing is... I have a download function that lets me pick up things. Copy various aspects of something I analyze, then transform into more powerful archetypes of myself, with the best bits of the new stuff mixed with the old. This mental linking let me download information about the Doctor into my head, though the experience left me with a new transformation ability that more or less results in me becoming a garish amalgamation of his previous lives and donning a temporary estuary British accent. Apparently, it was impossible for my system to make heads or tails of all his past lives, and so it royally botched up (and when I say royally botched up, I mean gave me severe multiple personality disorders for a while) the final transformation. Oh, and the guy has lost track of his age big time. He's about 2,000 years old. Biological scans estimate that much, don't trust 'em. They only help me get into the vicinity of big numbers like that.
I tried to ask the Doctor about what claimed his eighth life in the Last Great Time War. He looked back at me with a very sad, forlorn gaze and simply told me, "Suffering. The suffering of my people. It burned through me and I died. All alone. In darkness... cold, bitter darkness. But something kicked in at the last moment, at the bleakest hour of my life... light shined into the dark. And then I woke up a new man. My ninth incarnation. But I was not at peace. I was not ready to die, nor did I want to die again, and most of all, I did not want to witness my people die. I was angry. But enough of that. It's in the past. Best look to the future with a smile, eh mate? You're proof enough that it's in spectacular hands!" The man walked away like a true enigmatic figment of my world, back to the blue box of splendor he calls home.
Excerpt from the Third Archive
Ordinance Eleven:
In response to the growing threat of the Hylkabern conquests, we have documented a message from one of the war-torn survivors. He has a precognizant mind that wavers between prophecy and discordant thoughts. His statements are a premonition to the arrival of a Valestygian destroyer. We fear it precludes a great calamity.
"Beware the ravager draped in tin flesh. He is the King that Could Have Been, ruler of a time that never was, the hand of fate that wrote it into existence ripped away from the pages of destiny before it could pen his hellion tale. When his countenance is upon your world, do not lock eyes with his hollow gaze... For he is a walker of Lord Death, the bringer of depravity... and to look upon him with bated breath, or at his enraged behest... is a challenge of his authority... one that beckons acceptance into oblivion. But remember... he is first and foremost a liar. Fall not for his deceiving wiles. Simply rebuke his name and he will flee screaming. He is not, nor will he ever be welcome in the presence of the holy. Stand tall and proud, holy soul. That will assure your victory."
If the day comes that the Valestygian threat descends upon our world, the information shall be released to the private parties specified henceforth:
- The Grandmaster Authoritum of the Vigilant Dreamscape Squadrons
- The head of the company Alpha Helix Society, the progenitors of nano-conversion
- The dominant Chaplain or Commander of the elite Saving Throw brigade, a subdivision of the Dreamscape Squadrons, code name for Branch Seven
- Any individual associated with the Parliament of Unilateral Security Headmasters
- All others who can properly defend the Earth
--The Lazareth Accords