How the War was Won

Freedom. Democracy. Justice. He was to be the embodiment of these ideals, the three elements that came together to form the American dream. A man with powers above and beyond those of his fellow mortals, he still had somehow managed to remain one of them. The super-soldier serum and a bombardment of vita-rays had made him that way, transforming him into something great. Fast, strong, intelligent and cunning, he was the epitome of everything a man could hope to achieve, and now he marched in shackles.

His heart was heavy with experience, knowing exactly where he was and why and that everything in time comes in full circle. Still garbed in the red, white and blue of his flag Captain America was escorted through the passageway, now a prisoner for the crime of serving the task he was created to perform. It saddened and pained him that the belief he'd fought for so fervently, that there might be liberty and justice for all, was considered outmoded. If such were the case then what kind of future did the world have to look forward to?

SHIELD had spared no expense in ensuring his captivity, even granting Captain America his own cell in the maximum security wing of the Raft, far from the other heroes who dared to remain anonymous. Under Tony Stark's personal watch the prison's structure had been strengthened with Steve Rogers' own gilded cage being equipped to counter every method of escape he could conceive. It seemed that like the nuclear bomb he was allowed to win a war, but did not have the right to live as he saw fit, nor did countless of his allies.

With Captain America's surrender the media had trumpeted the end of the Civil War. They'd reported that after seeing the bloodshed and realizing the will of the American people that the Star-Spangled Avenger stood down, submitting himself to the law. Though it was not the whole truth and Steve Rogers, the citizen, not Captain America, was determined to make his plea heard. He would have his say and in the end he had no intention of becoming a martyr. He would show that liberty, justice and the law did not always go hand in hand.

The day started out just like any other, with the world laying sideways as she stared at the apartment beyond her pillow. Her eyes were wide open which in itself carried the heavy responsibility of having to drag herself to her feet. Sally Floyd had never been a fan of mornings, even the more recent ones that didn't come with hangovers.

More likely it was a product of her profession, placing the world under a microscope and scrutinizing it for all it was worth. The media had been accused of being fear mongers and perhaps she was, because the world outside terrified her to no end. For all that had happened during the course of the Civil War there just didn't seem to be an America worth waking up to anymore.

As much as she tried to argue with nature it was time for her to wake and confront New York city with all of it's waste and wonder, love and hate, fear and frivolity. And why shouldn't she revel in it? This was the brave new world that they fought so hard to build. Yeah, right. It wouldn't be long until it all crumbled back into the dirt.

The night before Sally had taken the phone and buried it under a pillow. Anything anyone had to say to her could wait until it was the morning and she supposed right now was the time to face the music. Standing and walking to the table her answering machine sat upon she pulled the covering pillow away and pressed the play button.

"Sally, pick up your phone right now!" It was Ben. He was in a panic. She was halfway to the kitchen when she paused and stared at the machine. Twenty messages. Something had happened and it wasn't good. "This is serious! Don't screen me! This is everything we've worked for, right here!"

She didn't waste anymore time. Sally picked up the phone, her fingers danced upon the dial pad and she held it to her ear while waiting for Ben Urich's answer. With each ring she cursed the day: it had given her so much unwelcome drama and she wasn't even wearing pants yet. Finally he answered. "Sally! Where the hell have you been?"

Her fingers ran nervously through her dark hair. "I'm sorry, Ben. I've only just got your first message now. What's happened?"

"The story's been leaked." Ben's tone was full of dread. He couldn't possibly mean what she thought he meant. The only reason they hadn't published the story themselves was because it would cripple the nation: it would mean that the Civil War was all for nothing.

"Which story?" She wanted to avoid it, for it to be something else. It was a vain hope but it was all that she could cling to for the moment.

"You know damn well which one," Ben chastised her with a harsh whisper, probably to keep the full extent of his anger from his family breakfast table. "Stark, Osborn, the war with Atlantis, the stocks, the registration budget, the works. Someone's unleashed a crapstorm of epic magnitude with you and I caught in the middle!"

There were no words for the situation. The best Sally could muster were the inaudible gasps she made while huddled safely in the corner of the room. "Oh god... oh god!"

"Sally, listen to me," Ben said calmly, slowing his words down as to not overwhelm her. "There's talk of charges being pressed against us. Do you have any idea how this could have happened?"

"Charges?" She almost leaped out of her skin. What had she done that was so criminal? They'd only done what they thought was right.

"Aiding and abetting coupled with obstruction of justice," he replied. "This is going straight to the supreme court and we're being indicted in the scandal for sitting on it."

"We were right to sit on this, Ben! This is going to blow the Registration Act out of the water!"

"I know."

"All of those lives lost... all of that stupid fighting..."

"I know."

"There's going to be chaos." Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before those who told the news themselves became the news. "It could spark the Civil War all over again!"

"That's what all of the reports have been saying," he said with a defeated sigh. "Sally, please, tell me how this could have happened."

"How the hell am I supposed to know, Ben? What makes you think I'd go and do something as insane as this?"

"Because I didn't! That's why!" There was a long pause between them filled with only the dead air of the phone line. They'd thrown away everything to start Frontlines together and now so soon into their relationship their trust had been violated. With a weary groan Ben broke the silence. "I'll be at the office in an hour. I'll bring coffee and bagels. We can talk about it then."

He didn't even wait for a response before hanging up and there he left Sally Floyd, alone in her pajamas, curled into the corner of her apartment with tears streaming down her face. They'd held onto their secrets for a reason and now it was likely they'd both go to federal prison. Now more than ever she needed a drink.

"Washington has been abuzz ever since reports surfaced fingering current SHIELD administrator Tony Stark as the primary conspirator in the recent superhuman Civil War, the monumental battle between the nation's superheroes in which those who do not comply with the newly introduced Superhuman Registration Act and submitting their true identities to authorities will be prosecuted as federal criminals. Accusations that the former secretary of defense and director of Stark Enterprises recruited many convicted supervillains into his ranks and manipulated the Green Goblin, Norman Osborn, into attacking the ambassador of Atlantis in the name of boosting registration numbers have left him reeling from the public eye.

"With a record number of superhumans on the street turning rogue, seemingly in protest of Stark's actions, figures of those violating the terms of the Superhuman Registration Act are running at an all time high. The Supreme Court has come out today vowing to see these matters addressed quickly while the US Congress, in light of the Act's sudden lapse in popularity, are assembling an oversight committee to examine whether or not the law is constitutionally sound.

"So far both Tony Stark and SHIELD representatives have been unavailable for comment."

The rapid clunk of his heavy metal boots conveyed his mood clearly to the personnel standing to either side. Though his face was covered by an expressionless helmet every single one of them could see the furious grimace adorning director Stark's face. It hadn't taken long for the media to tear his whole life apart, to level what he had strived so hard to achieve, for what he had to sacrifice so much for. His character had been assassinated in the press and thusly so had the better America he stood for.

Nobody dared keep Iron Man from his target: it was as though his luminescent eyes would tear them apart long before his repulsor beams would. The Iron Avenger was steaming inside his own suit, bubbling in his own fury. Once upon a time he called his prisoner a friend, and though that had been thrown away it still pained him that Steve Rogers could do something so bitter, especially after all of the bloodshed. Would it have all been for nothing? One way or another he would not allow it to end that way.

He arrived at the cell, looking down to see the unmasked sentinel of liberty, quietly whiling away at the empty moments. Captain America looked up, as if surprised to see him, then bowed his head as if to return to his pensive state. "What can I do for you today, Tony?"

With a sharp hiss Iron Man removed his helmet, holding it to one side and glaring down on his prisoner. He could have begun spitting out teeth at any moment. "How could you do this to us, Steve?"

"Do what?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he warned. He simply wasn't in the mood for games after feeling as though he'd been stabbed in the back. "How long have you been sitting on this?"

"Sitting on what?"

"You know perfectly well what!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Tony? What am I supposed to know?" Their shouts echoed through the hallways of the Raft. Every ear lining the corridors was pricked, eager to hear exactly what was going to happen. Usually a prisoner would be thrown down or tazered for speaking out of turn, but not Captain America. Even if he was a criminal they had too much damn respect for him to do that.

Though still Iron Man wasn't convinced. His anger broke, just for that one moment for him to laugh at it all. Did he really think Captain America capable of betraying him like that, or was he simply more fearful of the judgement of a better man? "I suppose you're happy with yourself. Now the world thinks I'm the villain you said I was."

Captain America's eyes widened, though he was still puzzled. What could have gotten out that it would threaten to destroy Tony Stark so completely? "What have you done, Tony?"

"Everything I can to make this country, hell, this whole planet a better place," he lamented sadly. "I'm sorry if that wasn't good enough for you. You're not the only one who knows about sacrifice, Steve."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the act!" His hand clashed against the indestructible adamantium bar between them, ringing out and loudly emphasizing his frustration. Stark practically spat at the old soldier, "The very people we were supposed to be protecting were afraid of us! We don't deserve their trust if we have packs of New Warriors running around and killing in the hundreds. Deep down you know it as well as I do that we need to start acting more responsibly."

"The ends justify the means. Is that it?" Steve Roger's steel blue eyes cut through Iron Man like hot knives. He didn't know what the SHIELD director wanted, nor did it matter. Tony Stark was guilty and they all knew it. "Forgive me for saying so, but I've heard it before."

The two of them stood and faced each other, suspended in mutual hatred. It seemed so strange that a friendship could come to this. Of course only two close friends could ever wound each other so deeply. With Cap's surrender he'd hoped that meant he'd come to reason, that with the end of the fighting they could begin to reconcile. That was not to be, because as all wars went there were some wounds that would never heal, least of all the ones marked on the souls of fighting men and women.

There was nothing more to be said. Tony returned the red and gold helmet to his shoulders and once more completed his persona. He spoke as he marched away. "You need to get over yourself, Steve. This is the twenty-first century. You need to open up your eyes and see the world for what it is!"

Alone Captain America sat and pondered on those words. Under his breathe he cursed Tony for being a self-righteous bastard. Finally he muttered, "Yeah. I've been hearing that a lot."

"I fold."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," said the ever-loving blue-eyed Thing, not for a moment looking away from the cards gripped in his orange rock-like hands. "You got the weight of the world on your shoulders, kid. It's no wonder you got the world's worst poker face."

Peter Parker slumped in his chair, inhaling the smoke the other players blew out. Around him were Jessica Drew, Ben Grimm, Wolverine and Luke Cage, each biting into the end of a lit cigar. Though they fought on either sides of the war for one night they were able to put it behind them, to remember for one night that they were all friends. Their only refuge was in the home of Doctor Strange, which to the outside world now appeared to be a dilapidated old building.

"I can't believe you guys can just sit around and play cards. We should be doing something."

"Like what?" Wolverine grunted as he threw in more chips. The others just seemed to pass off what he was saying as guilt-ridden babbling.

"I don't know... we could bust into the Raft. Break Cap out. He'd know what to do."

"Cap gave himself up," Jessica argued half-heartedly. "He's in there by choice."

Spider-Man sat up with anger and determination. "He doesn't belong in there. He's not a criminal. He's a hero!"

"He broke the law," replied the Thing casually, considering his hand. His face contorted as he laid down his cards. "Ah, crap. I fold."

"We all did," Cage interjected. "I fold too."

"Just you and me, Logan," the Spider-Woman teased with a wicked grin and an eye hungry for his chips. The former Weapon X returned the stare, feeling he was up for the challenge.

Spider-Man's hand slammed down on the table. "Haven't you guys heard a word I've said?"

"Can it, Pete. We're in the middle of a hand." Sensing that the wall-crawler wasn't just going to let this go Wolverine sat forward, pulling his cigar away long enough to grimace at the young hero. "Listen, Cap what he did for a reason. None of us like this registration baloney any more than you, but if we go acting like criminals and starting the Civil War all over again then we probably deserve to be locked up. And if you want to start up with that 'great power, great responsibility' bit then you're wrong. Right now your responsibility is to sit on your powers and not use 'em to make things worse."

Parker stood in halted pause, not sure how to respond. It would be so easy to lash out, to strike at someone just because they told him to not lose his reason, but they were right. He'd already given so much in the name of the war and there was no way he could get it back. Heavily he stood and walked away from the table as the game continued without him.

"God damn you all."

The weeks seemed to drag by after that. Sure, the nation was still arguing back and forth from both sides, the wheels of congress were turning, the pressure was on and every TV and radio was filled with political noise, but when you're behind bars every second is like slow motion. It didn't matter how many thoughts you had buzzing around in your head, in prison you have time to count every single one of them.

Ben Urich had done just that, and he'd had a lot on his mind. Prison time didn't frighten him so much as the thought of not being able to see his wife and children everyday, although how he'd survived inside so far was by no means a miracle. He'd had ample time to think about the things he was losing as well as the reality that maybe he was deserving what he got, that maybe he was helping a tyrant gain ultimate power. Ah, hell, he didn't care anymore.

The guard opened the door and in walked a handsome man of Irish decent, dressed smartly in an expensive suit and brandishing a cane to help him navigate in the absence of his eyesight. Not that he really needed it, of course. All the same Matt Murdock sat at the opposite end of the table in the empty room and laid out his briefcase upon it.

"It's even uglier on the inside," Ben complained, breaking the silence between himself and his old friend. It wasn't long ago that Matt himself had been a resident of Riker's Island, though he'd since managed to break free and clear his name. His distaste for it was obvious. Ben could relate.

"I'm not sure what to say to you," said the lawyer seriously.

"Say you'll take the case."

"It's not as simple as that," he sighed. "Daredevil was publicly opposed to the Registration Act. How's it going to look if I were to represent you, Ben?"

The impoverished reporter ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "Don't start this with me, Matt. You showed them all. You're not Daredevil. You proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"But the connotations are still there. People aren't just going to forget 'blind lawyer Matt Murdock is Daredevil' overnight. Taking on a case like yours is just going to drag this out further."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. "What are you saying? Matt, I have a wife and kids outside. You know this. What are they going to do without me?"

"It's not just what I'm saying," the lawyer reasoned harshly. "It's also what Foggy says, otherwise I'd take the case in a heartbeat." It took a moment for the guilt to come back to him: he wanted to help his friend more than anything, no matter what he'd done. "I can find you another lawyer. I promise I'll get you the best representation possible."

"You are the best representation possible." He sighed heavily. The last thing Ben needed was one of his closest friends working against him like this. "Matt, they're going to crucify me."

"You were sitting on top of a nationwide conspiracy. You were covering up a crime."

Usually he would have tried to deny it, but this was Matt Murdock he was talking to. He could smell his sweat, hear his heartbeat, pick out the hundred little details that gave away that he was lying, that he thought perhaps this was coming to him. What else could Ben Urich do but relent? "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

The lawyer dragged himself from his chair, reluctant to stand upright. What he was doing felt so cold, walking out on a good friend who'd protected him all of these years. Now, just when Ben needed him most he couldn't bring himself to be there. "I'm sorry, Ben, but that's why I can't represent you."

"Goddamn it, Matt. You break the law all the time!"

"Yes, I do," he admitted freely. "The difference is that the only person liable is usually myself. I can't say that I've ever threatened to put entire nations at war for my own profit."

"Matt..." Though his pleas were falling on deaf ears. What could he do? He was desperate. He needed Matt Murdock more than anything. There was only one thing left to do. "I could tell them, you know... I could tell them everything."

His head hung heavily. How far had Ben Urich fallen, that he would threaten his own friend with blackmail? Perhaps it was because he himself felt betrayed. All the same Matt glanced over to him through his dark sunglasses and stated what both of them knew for a fact. "No, you couldn't. Not even if you tried."

"Yeah." Ben's head fell to rest in his hands. This entire game was getting to be too tiring for him to handle and there was no end in sight. Matt was right, again. He was in his own mess.

"Good luck, Ben." Though his words held little comfort as he buzzed for the guard to open the door. When he left all Ben Urich had once more were his thoughts. What he'd said, what he hadn't said, they were going to haunt him for a long time.

"After the turbulent events of the recent Civil War, in which government contracted superheroes sought to bring to justice violators of the newly introduced Superhuman Registration Act, the day of reckoning for this nation's protectors is finally at hand. Former leader of the Avengers and unifying element in the rogue hero forces, Captain America stands trial today on numerous charges ranging from violation of the act to high treason.

"Political commentators from both sides were quick to comment on the importance of this case, the result of which will heavily influence the outcome of an independent inquiry by a congressional committee into the constitutional validity of the Superhuman Registration Act. We turn now live to the steps of the New York federal court where Steve Rogers, Captain America, is being escorted inside."

The repulsor force from his ankles dissipated, allowing for Iron Man's gleaming red and gold armor-clad form to come to a graceful landing in front of press. Cameras flashed as he stood before them, bubbling in silent, dignified anger while surveying the area and ignoring their questions. There was quite a turnout and he wasn't surprised: what would be addressed that day would affect the entire country, regardless of status. On that day the face of modern America would be determined.

They were unrelenting with their questions. Every media outlet had someone there covering the story, and all of them had arms, microphones and tape recorders outheld in the hopes that the Iron Avenger would mutter a new piece of truth to them. What did he say to his alleged connection to Norman Osborn? What would he like to say to the Atlantean embassy? Most of all, did he feel responsible for Captain America's imprisonment? They were the questions on the lips of the entire country.

"No comment," he dismissed them, holding his arm out to part the crowd. "Your questions will be answered at the appropriate time."

In the eyes of Tony Stark the appropriate time was shortly after doomsday. Question upon question, each was like a sharp blade tearing into him, destroying that which he'd worked so hard to build. In the end what had happened with the Atlantean ambassador was no more than a stunt designed to bring the community a new sense of unity: the kind of unity that could only be achieved through registration. It was all for show and was never supposed to be revealed to the public.

It was a complex machine that Tony Stark had built, which had cost him many of his friends and the respect of others. Though in the end he had achieved power, status and had effectively changed the world in a way he argued was for the better. It would have been absolutely perfect if one cog hadn't slipped out of the works, leaving the rest to collapse in it's wake. He only hoped that he was able to salvage some of it after proving his innocence.

A black vehicle with tinted windows pulled up on the street alongside him where armed security had cleared a path. Two of the guards stepped to the door in front of the expectant Iron Man, and opened it to make room for the prisoner with hands shackled behind his back. As he looked down to Steve Rogers he hardly paid any heed to the bitter glare directed at him and did his job, standing back and watching to ensure the safety of a hopeless martyr.

The crowd parted before him and were held back by agents. It was as if he were some holy symbol, though still they shouted questions as the Captain dragged himself up those courthouse steps. Not for a moment had he lost his dignity, and still wore the red, white and blue with pride. In his mind he probably still held to the hope of victory. Of course he would. He was Captain America, and he would never give up. He was far too stubborn to realize when he was beaten.

Silently Iron Man cursed him. Why did he have to do this? Tony couldn't fault him for his passion: that alone had seen them through many dark times, but his unrelenting nature would only cost the superhumans even more in the end. Couldn't he see that he was only hurting himself with his valiant show?

The crowd hoarded around them with SHIELD agents pressing them back. They were like a furious ocean of arms, each wanting a piece. Those under Stark had to watch their tempers, as did the ones who protected Steve, one of whom was Agent 13, Sharon Carter. She'd once been a lover to the disgraced hero and was more than a little conflicted when the Civil War broke out. Now she was his bodyguard, protecting his life and making sure that nobody crossed the line.

That was Tony's job as well. He reminded himself exactly why he was there. Ordinarily he would have only come when needed, but now he was going to sit through this trial and listen to every word before testifying to Captain America's guilt. It didn't matter what the world thought of him, he still knew that the Sentinel of Liberty was wrong. Hopefully somebody, somewhere, would listen to the voice of reason, the torch of which he believed that he carried.

He kept his eyes alert for danger. There was something in the air pricking his senses and it had little to do with the proceedings that would be taking place. Was it just his paranoia? No, there was something nagging at him. Tony hated it when he didn't have answers, especially when he couldn't quite finger the problem. Wishfully he wondered if he couldn't build some sort of device to... and there it was: a flash in Sharon's eyes.

His senses wanted to do a double-take, but that would have only proved deadly. She raised her gun, concealed by the frenzy of the crowd she was holding back. Iron Man dived forward to stop what he hardly believed he was seeing: Agent 13 attempting to shoot Captain America. He would have been too late and unable to save his former comrade if her eyes hadn't suddenly glazed over. Her head tilted back is if by an invisible blow. It was a psychic attack, and in an instant she fell in a heap to the ground.

Suddenly his attention was once more snatched away before he could even bark the first order. Almost immediately he was in the air while SHIELD agents scurried around Steve Rogers, running their prisoner back to the safety of the van. With multiple scanners he searched the area, finally pinpointing the would be assassin on the roof of a building. He'd already snatched his rifle away. It was Crossbones and he was on the run.

Then from nowhere came a second shot, but this time from an energy weapon. Piece by piece his suit began to shut down, the enhanced strength of his armour quickly turning to dead weight. Iron Man plummeted to the ground, striking it with all the force gravity could muster. It was dark and claustrophobic, he could barely move. Though there must have been more to the blow than he thought. It shouldn't have been as hard to breathe. It shouldn't have gotten so cold...

The last thing he heard were the voices crying, muffled through the thickness of his casing. "Somebody call a medic! Director Stark is down! Repeat: Director Stark is down!"

It's a strange thing, you know? One minute I was sitting at home watching the Golden Girls on TiVo while polishing my guns, next came the familiar sensation of the Teleportation Matrix. Nate had just made another bodyslide and taken me with him back to Providence. After that whole Civil War nightmare his face was the last one I wanted to see. I'd have rather sat on an anthill naked and covered in barbecue sauce than come back here.

What's that? You don't know what I'm talking about? Right. It's probably all of the cut scenes and the switching perspectives. That's what you get with an events-based story with multiple characters. My name's Wade Wilson, also known to many as Deadpool. I've just been transported to Providence, an island/ship/country that was created by and is run by my former friend, Nate Grey, also known as Cable. Don't ask me what his story is: most of the X-Men have origins more complicated than Days Of Our Lives. Long story short, we're stuck together like the Odd Couple. I'm for the Registration Act, he's against it. Oh, what fun we have with that!

"I'm right here, Wade." Yeah, he was. I turned around. I probably looked stupid standing there in my jockey shorts and still wearing my mask, but somehow still having a gun in my hand seemed to compensate for what little shame I had. It clicked as the hammer cocked after pointing it in the direction of Nate's overblown head.

Right off the bat I had to think of something witty to show him that I wasn't screwing around. "I told you, Nate. No more trips for two. No more romantic weekends. I'm not following you around anymore."

He was wearing that grin. You know, that 'holier than thou, I just boned your mama and you don't even know it' kind of look that makes you just want to backhand him like a ginger stepson. This crap was old even when it was fresh. There wasn't much he could say that I'd want to hear, but still he wanted to speak anyway. That was fine. He'd talk, I'd shoot, I'd drag him back to Washington with me. I was a government man, after all. I had a badge and everything!

"You can drop the gun. I know it's not loaded," he said calmly, waving it down. Damn it, he was right. Why did I have to be cleaning it right that second? Why couldn't I have been threatening to shoot Oprah through the TV like I always do? I dropped it knowing there wasn't much I could do in my jockey shorts and he seemed satisfied. "Everything's changed now. We're living in a better world. Sic semper tyrannis."

He was so smug when he turned his head. That's when I knew that something somewhere had gone horribly wrong. "Nate... what did you do?"

There was no reply, not from him anyway. Instead the television flicked on and there came the news report. "...believed that the shooter's intended target was Captain America, whose trial for federal crimes in defiance of the Superhuman Registration Act has been temporarily suspended. Director Stark was pronounced dead on the scene, but there's not yet word of exactly how his suit's life support failed him."

"You..." No way. I didn't just do that. A sniper couldn't have taken out Iron Man. No how. Bullets would have just bounced right off of that metal shell. It would take an act of sabotage to make his suit fail. His biological link to the armor might have just done him in when it conked out. It would take an act of sabotage, or an attack from a powerful cyberpath like the man sitting before me. "You killed him. You self-righteous son of a bitch! You killed him!"

"I've seen how this ends, Wade. The Initiative, interplanetary war, it all leads up to something terrible. I did what I had to do because any alternative is better than the course history was already taking." I almost couldn't believe my ears. What I wouldn't have given for a fresh clip at that moment, even for what little good it could have done.

"So what now, Nate? You've changed the world. Humanity's path has been altered by your one bold, stupid, brutal act of hubris! What happens now, huh?"

No matter how mixed up my head might ever be I could never forget that look on his face. It wasn't so much smug as it was bittersweet. Relieved, but at the same time terrified. He always seemed to know things the rest of us didn't, but that's what you get when you're a history buff from the future. Now that was all out of the window. His future didn't exist anymore. So Askani'Son, what happens next?

"I don't know," he said. "I honestly don't know."

NOT THE END