Work Text:
Personal Log of Captain Rip Hunter, Time Master.
Off-record, chrono-locked, triple encrypted.
Logged: The Vanishing Point
I am convinced more and more with each passing day that I will not be able to convince the Council with my final plea. I have rehearsed and perfected my address, laying out before them the evils of Vandal Savage and the existential threat he poses, but I’d be blind to ignore their inaction so far. They are the endpoint of the philosophy that I have dedicated my life to. Even the best speech in the world would have trouble pricking their conscience.
So, I will plan for failure. That way I cannot fail. My contingency plan will no doubt result in my expulsion from the Time Masters, but this is a cost I am willing to pay. I have failed enough for one lifetime—I will ensure that this project is nothing but successes.
I’ve yet to figure out my exact approach if and when I commandeer the Waverider, so first thing’s first. I’m booked in to take her out for routine maintenance and test flights today. Before I head back, I’ll run some projections of how my mission may turn out, with Gideon’s help. From that, I’ll be able to deduce my ideal course of action. I won’t be away for long enough to be suspicious. I just need a way to conduct my research unobserved, and I know that I can rely on Gideon’s support where others have failed me.
Logged: The Temporal Zone
Gideon has crashed. Without her to talk back, the only sound in the ship is me talking to myself.
I knew that trying to project a sequence of events that could potentially involve quite a lot of temporal jumps was nigh on impossible, and would probably yield very little usable data. But I thought it was worth a shot. Evidently not. Perhaps I shouldn’t have disabled all those safeguards that Gideon said were getting in her way.
The Waverider’s computers still seem to be functioning and self-regulating, so I suppose the best thing to do is settle in and wait for the calculations to finish. Things are going to be quiet for however long it—
We appear to be moving. Quite quickly. Excuse me.
Logged: Tacoma, 2042
Somehow, the prediction program that I ran has hijacked the Waverider’s navigation systems. It landed me in the north-west United States, early 2040s. Not the most stable of decades, temporally or politically speaking. The only things around are abandoned flats and smoke in the air.
Presumably, my program sent me here because it’s somehow related to my plan, and how it will unfold. I’m not certain exactly how—the connection could be the time, or the place. Or perhaps even a person.
I found only one in the immediate vicinity. A woman with a ready bag and a palm computer. She tried to act tough, but she was clearly skittish around me, and clearly even more skittish at the sound of the armoured vans a few streets over. She wouldn’t tell me her name, but after I gave her some food she confided that she was heading to Seattle, to find what was left of her family.
I… felt for her. And I could tell she didn’t have much hope of getting very far without being detained. But I still believe in the preservation of the timeline. I’ve seen what happens when I interfere. Ruined homes and lives are all too familiar to me, but I must treat 2166 as a special case. Vandal Savage is several orders of magnitude more destructive than whatever institution caused the ruin here. No matter how much I sympathise, I can’t just help every person in need of aid.
So I’m back onboard the Waverider, alone. It’s a shame, really. The woman seemed to really know her way around a computer, both her own and any nearby that happened to be connected to any given network. I could’ve used her help on the ship. Gideon still isn’t responding to me. From what I can make of the code, jumping the Waverider will take me to another predetermined destination. It looks like the easiest way out is through, and I’ll just have to keep jumping until the program is done and full functionality is restored. I do hope this isn’t a complete waste of time.
Logged: Yunnan province, China, 2018
This time I’ve put down far from the nearest city, among the foothills of the Meili Snow Mountains. The view is stunning.
Once again I can only find a single person nearby. An American, come to Asia searching for some kind of enlightenment. This isn’t exactly uncommon in this era. I struck up a quick conversation, said that at least he wasn’t a tourist walking along the Great Wall. He said he did that two weeks ago. That made the conversation even quicker, and it yielded nothing of interest.
Except then I managed to get the Waverider’s facial recognition software working, along with its historical records, and it turned out that this simple traveller is Wallace ‘Wally’ West. Better known as Kid Flash. The fastest or second fastest man alive, depending when you are. Now I regret the tourist remark even more.
I’m not entirely sure what this means. Coincidence? Or am I being shown people who will help me in my campaign? I will continue making notes in my log of everywhere I visit, in case anything could be of use. This could be interpreted as a little too much foreknowledge of my own future, but it’s not like I don’t already plan to bend the rules.
Logged: Morocco, 1939
Another year, another continent, but this time there are faces that I recognise. Amidst the bustle of soldiers and officials at an airport, not far from their own aircraft, I spy the Justice Society of America. Out on an international mission, carefully skirting the war in Europe before America officially becomes involved.
The Waverider has invisibly nestled itself between the planes and the cars, and there’s no point me leaving it this time. I can’t interact with the Society, not before they first meet me in 1956. The Spear of Destiny job, back when my concerns about the Council were beginning in earnest. Courtney Whitmore, Henry Heywood, Charles McNider. I have thought about tracking them down, using the Spear to stop Savage. But that’s the reason I hid it so thoroughly, isn’t it: so none of us would be tempted to use it. I have to stay strong in my convictions, especially when I’m already betraying some of them.
There’s one or two faces I don’t recognise amongst the Society, but they all work together flawlessly. Standing to attention, each contributing to whatever strategy they’re discussing. I wish that I could discuss my own problem with them, even recruit them to my cause. There’s no other allies I’d rather stand beside.
Which all rather suggests what I need when it comes to my mission: a team. I think back to when I found a route to Ancient Egypt that the Time Masters didn’t know about. My first attempt to… deal with Savage. If I had a team to back me up then, I may not still be worrying about him now.
Perhaps that’s what my program is showing me: potential members of my team, ones that I might even recruit as I meet them today. I’ll keep that in mind moving forward. I wish I’d thought of it before I left behind the speedster and the hacker.
The Society is leaving now. I should do the same.
Logged: Sydney, 2011
The Waverider landed near a park. In the park there was a playground, and at the swing set was a father pushing his daughter. Back and forth, her yelling commands, him holding her fuzzy blue backpack. They both looked so happy. But I’d already scanned what I could of the surroundings from the ship, so I already knew who the man was. International terrorist Damien Darhk. I kept my distance
I confess that for a moment, I considered it. Would I be able to convince Darhk that taking down Savage was to his advantage? Work alongside him. Fight fire with fire.
The thought didn’t last much more than a moment. The two of them are too alike. The records on Darhk are sparse, but they make it abundantly clear that he’s powerful and he’s deadly. I’d be a fool to introduce him to any form of time travel. Five years from now he’ll murder thousands of people, more or less try to destroy the world, and be killed by the Green Arrow of Star City for his trouble. I don’t dare risk reversing any of that.
Which begs the question: why was I brought here? What links him to me? One potential is that I—or my future team—will come into conflict with Darhk. Which is, obviously, disturbing for much the same reasons as teaming up with him. I’ll make a note to do my research on Darhk—on his long and hidden history, and his better-documented battles with the Green Arrow.
…I wonder if Vandal Savage ever had a child. He certainly doesn’t seem the type. But then, neither does Darhk. If Savage does… But that’s not important right now.
Logged: Low Earth Orbit, 71 B.C.E.
Well, I wasn’t expecting this. According to my scans, what I’m looking at is a Necrian spaceship, which is currently abducting Spartacus. THE Sparatcus.
According to the historical records, this doesn’t actually alter the timeline. It was claimed that Spartacus died during the Battle of the Silarius River—which is right now raging below us in Ancient Italy—but his body was never recovered. Nonetheless, this abduction is something that I should look into. Or rather, I would look into it, if I was currently on official Time Master business. And if I had full control of my ship.
Honestly, extra-terrestrial life has never been one of my strong suits. I feel like I have my hands full dealing with just one planet.
I can’t foresee myself employing the services of a Necrian bounty hunter, so I suppose they must be another potential adversary for me to contend with. Unless I was brought here because Spartacus himself will end up on my crew. He would make for a good ally in a fight. But for the moment I don’t have an awful lot of choice but to leave him be, possibly to be taken to some distant world. Sounds like the set-up to an episode of Star Trip.
If my as-yet-theoretical team has to rescue him, then I’m sure we’ll manage. We would have to. Any team that goes up against Savage will have to be an elite strike force, a group with the same level of skill and efficiency that I’d expect from myself or any other Time Master.
Logged: Gotham City, 2009
I believe I’ve just been mugged by Batman.
Well, that’s not quite true. It was more of a con than a mugging. Batman jumped from somewhere out of sight to demand if I’d seen any crime, while his friend walking down the street made a quick detour into my back pocket. I’m lucky that I didn’t have anything too advanced on me, but alas I am down one wallet and currencies from a dozen different time zones. I’m not proud that I fell for the routine, but in my defence this Batman looked remarkably similar to the genuine article. Even if he went a little too hard on the voice.
But the strangest part of the encounter occurred when I realised what had just happened. With the accomplice still fairly close, I yelled after him. And then Batman sprouted wings. Not just a cape, or a gadget, but actual literal giant bat wings. He lifted his co-conspirator bodily off the ground, and flew the two of them into the night.
In the moment, I didn’t quite know how to react.
The Waverider was able to pull images from nearby security cameras and find a facial match for the more unassuming of the two—a match from the Time Master’s own files. Michael Jon Carter, a time traveller. Why he’s picking pockets in 21st century Gotham is anyone’s guess. Perhaps he recognised me as a time traveller too. Or perhaps he just did it for fun, going by the laughter as he flew away.
As for his friend in the cape and cowl, I assume that he was some type of shape-shifter. And from what I witnessed, I think it was the result of magic. The supernatural is another blind spot of mine. It was rather difficult for me to make any headway in researching Vandal Savage’s unnaturally extended life and convoluted rituals. I learnt that the magical community is a closed and tight-knit one, but at least there is some kind of community… with some kind of law enforcement.
It would worry me to leave two time vandals making chronology their playground without any supervision. Yet again, I’d officially log and investigate it myself if I was in any position to do so. Instead, I’ll send a message to one of the organisations I read about concerned with magic regulation, informing them of a rogue shape-shifter. I believe they have a prison dimension of some description.
I’m not inherently opposed to the idea of making use of criminals in my team. There are certain skillsets which only crop up in those who use a life of crime to hone them. On the other hand, I’d rather not have my team come to an end when they’re all arrested. And truth be told, I would prefer a slightly higher class of teammate anyway.
Logged: London, 2014
I believe I said higher class of teammate. Frankly I’d prefer the pickpockets to the drunkard sleeping in the gutter out there, surrounded by fluids that I truly hope aren’t bodily. Perhaps I’m just biased. I grew up on these streets, around men who looked just like John Constantine.
That’s his name, according to the ID in his wallet. Judging by a folded and indecipherable page of scribblings also from his pockets, I’d guess that he’s a magician too. Or a wizard, or whatever they delight in being called.
When it comes to my team, I’d rather not mix magic and science as much as can be avoided. With that said, there’s an obvious exception to the rule. I’ve been thinking about it, and a natural fit for any movement against Savage would be the two other individuals wrapped up in his curse: the ones often referred to as the Hawks. I’m sure there’s much unique insight that they could offer, and by necessity they’ve trained in combat many times. They were knights in the 1260s, pirates in the 1690s, gunfighters in the 1830s, and superheroes in the 2010s. Between the two of them, I’m sure they’ll fill a magic quota for my team.
So I’m leaving old John to whatever nightmares have him twitching like that. For the record, I put his wallet back into his pocket, despite it making a nice replacement to the one I lost. I even pulled his coat over him. Poor bastard.
Logged: New York, 1923
Now this is more like it.
Dr Gwyn Davis. A genius, but largely unrecognised in his day and an obscure historical footnote afterwards. Luckily, history is one of my strong suits. Davis laid the foundation for all modern forms of time travel. I remember finding his framed photograph hanging in an out-of-the-way corridor in the Vanishing Point. It’s funny, in person he seems somewhat familiar, like I’ve seen his face somewhere else. It’ll come to me.
He’s also a lot more jumpy in person. I sat for a while on the front steps of Edison Labs, watching him have an animated and largely one-sided conversation with one of his colleagues. I would’ve dearly loved to approach him, discuss his work and its more practical applications. I would’ve loved even more to invite him aboard my ship, offer him a position on it.
Unfortunately, such action would be the pinnacle of recklessness. Even a simple interaction with the father of time travel could cause a paradox on a massive scale. On top of that, it’s bound to catch the attention of the Council, and I’d rather put that off for as long as possible. I’ve seen the type of reprisals they give to dissidents. Just this week I spotted the bounty hunter Chronos as he was waiting for an audience with them. He looked my way, and it may have just been the product of my paranoid imagination, but I could’ve sworn that he… glared at me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his ghastly helmet, but I felt them burning into me, as if he could tell exactly what I was planning on doing. He didn’t look away until he was let into the council chamber by—
Time Master Druce! That’s who Gwyn Davis reminds me of. Druce with a beard, yes. Funny how these things happen.
Logged: Vancouver, 2213
My far-sighted prediction program is taking me down some fairly insubstantial time tracks at this point. Things would have to work out in just the right way for some of the events I’m witnessing to actually occur. Still, it is a relief that somehow, in one possible future, there is a world after Vandal Savage.
And a nice-looking world it is too—though of course I know that nothing is ever as perfect as it looks. Still, the technological advancements made in this era are awfully impressive. I was dropped off on the doorstep of an exhibition showcasing the latest fad: human cloning. The head of the Advanced Variant Automation Corporation, a man named Bishop, was giving a speech introducing the newest models he’d designed. From the glimpse I got, the man seems quite brilliant. Ahead of his time, even in this time.
Again, I’m tempted to offer this ingenious scientist a place on my crew, but again he has an established destiny to contend with. According to the records, he contributes substantially to humanity’s ability to travel to and settle on other worlds. I wouldn’t want to see a timeline like that disturbed.
Apparently one of my biggest issues is finding members for my team who are both skilled enough to be of value to me, and—forgive me—disposable enough to not be a valuable part of their own world’s future. At first glance, it seems Bishop has handed me the solution on a silver platter. His clones, his Avas, all look incredibly advanced. I’ve seen a few of them on the streets, executing a variety of tasks with remarkable efficiency. Bishop even claims that one of his new models has the capacity for competent leadership.
But I have my reservations. While I do want my team to be manageable and controlled, I have a great respect for free will, for initiative, and for creative thinking. The Council would say that I have a little too much of those qualities myself, but I have no doubt that I would not have survived this long without them. And I’ll need them in abundance in the weeks ahead. So for now, my ship will remain clone-free. But I wouldn’t be averse to ordering just one, to round the team out. We’ll see.
Logged: Brixton University, 2006
From the new to the old; I find myself on the roof of a slightly run-down university history department. The nearest sign of life that I could find inside was a student defending his doctoral dissertation in one of the classrooms. A Mr Heywood, I believe. He threw in a few too many jokes and personal asides that weren’t to my taste, but he seemed to know his stuff. The hopeful student was quite enamoured with the superheroes of the twentieth century. He has a lot to look forward to in about a decade’s time. It was amusing to hear him bring up the Justice Society of America and how few of their actions are public knowledge, given that I ran into them earlier today.
I have great respect for historians, they have a necessary and thankless profession, but from the perspective of a Time Master they do come off as a little… quaint. Then again, someday very soon I’m no longer going to officially be a Time Master, so what do I know.
One thing historians haven’t been much help with is tracking the movements of Vandal Savage. By this point I must have poured over every published reference to him with no luck. But I have been inspired by this shabby history department: perhaps I should be consulting the teacher rather than the text. Discover what they know that hasn’t been published. Most historians who report on Savage do so seemingly ignorant of his importance to their subject. But there is one notable exception. A Professor Aldus Boardman has always struck me as being very aware of who he was talking about. I don’t know how much attention I’ll attract by visiting him, so I think he shall by my first port of call after I assemble my team.
My team. It’s a little pathetic of me to keep talking of them when I have yet to decide on a single candidate. I’m beginning to worry that this whole exercise has been time wasted. Even Professor Boardman, helpful though I hope he will prove in providing leads, is someone I wouldn’t see much application for when it comes to a physical altercation with Savage. I suppose I’m searching for brains and brawn.
Besides, when I already have a supercomputer with access to a near-limitless library, there’s only so many helpful ways a historian could contribute. And Mr Heywood’s brand of humour is not one of them.
Logged: Texas, 1925
Gideon is speaking to me again. It looks like my program has run its course, and made its final jump. Texas in 1925. What an unlikely place for it to end.
We’re deep into a potential time track. The Waverider’s temporal navigation is utterly bollocked; I can’t begin to imagine the sequence of events that would lead me here. For the same reason, Gideon’s scans are strained and scrambled. She can barely make out the farmhouse we landed next to. The only thing she can tell me for certain is that the strawberry and rhubarb pie I can spy cooling on the porch is destined to earn a blue ribbon at the 1925 Pascoe County Fair pie-baking contest. Which isn’t the most helpful tidbit. Unless Vandal Savage is allergic to rhubarb.
I didn’t hear any activity coming from inside the house. But when I peaked into the barn, I found three unconscious women. Simply asleep in the hay. They don’t seem to be dressed for farm labour. I think one of them reminds me of someone, but I don’t know who. I’m fairly sure it isn’t Time Master Druce this time.
I did try waking them up, but their sleep is particularly deep. So I just sat down, waiting for them to awake.
I’m still sitting here. Making my final log of the day while I wait.
I’m reminded of the woman I met back in Tacoma. Alone and exhausted.
I can’t help but feel like this parade of premonitions has been a dead end, and given me a false start. Emulating the Justice Society is never a bad idea—better people than I have done so—but what team am I really looking to bring together? Intelligent and battle-ready. Independent but manageable. Indispensable to me, but not to the timeline. Perhaps I’ve been too picky, but this is too vital a mission. My Miranda, my Jonas… What could I be looking for other than perfection?
All the places I’ve visited, all the people I’ve seen. These bizarre glimpses of my future. How do they all link together, I wonder. Which of them will help me? Those gifted and those unfortunate. Those misfits and outcasts, those heroes and villains…
How they link… Those heroes and villains…
I just figured it out.
Yes, yes it would work.
The prediction program did give me the solution I needed. I’ve been circling it all day. The avenger of Star City, the secret identity of Wallace West, the early twenty-first century Hawks, the mugger in Gotham. Here I am wondering who could act as my heroes; I should’ve been paying more attention to Mr Heywood’s thesis.
The 2010s are known as the Age of Heroes. In other words, superheroes were flooding the market. Throughout the United States in particular, you’d find someone in a specially-designed suit in every city. Practically on every street corner in some of them. The public was caught up in the spectacle at first, but almost immediately there were too many super-powered individuals for the average civilian to keep up with. Perfect for my purposes.
Some of them wanted a way to save the world. Some of them wanted to be appreciated. Some of them were self-serving criminals, but that suits my criteria just fine. All I need to do is pick out a few minor ones, and sell them on my mission. Give them an ideal that both the self-styled heroes and villains aspire to. Tell them that they are going to be remembered, respected, legendary. Whether they reach that lofty goal or not, time will tell, but believing it will be the first step.
Then, one day, if I have the good fortune to survive my mission and elude the clutches of the Council, I’ll be able to retire somewhere with my wife and son. I’ll drop my team off back home and they’ll just have another story of superheroics. Nothing out of the ordinary for such a cluttered time, nothing that stands out from the crowd. Just a tale of how they acted with grace and dignity.
Well, no time like the present. And I fear that the amount of time I’ve spent waiting for these three women to wake up has probably ticked over to creepy. Truth be told, I’d forgotten they were there.
Maybe one day I’ll find my way to this barn again. But until then, I have work to do. And I won’t be doing it alone.