####
TVA,
"It's a mess!" Ravonna Renslayer shouted, staring at the screen. "Everything's changed! But why isn't there a change in the sacred timeline?! What's happening?"
"Maybe he's got the power of the plot," Mobius muttered.
"That's nonsense! He has ruined the sacred timeline. Everything is wrong!"
"Looks alright to me."
"Mobius! I'm sanctioning a direct contact. You will go there and speak with him directly. Interview him since we can't kill him. I want answers! Real answers!"
Mobius sighed and then shrugged. "Alright, I'll speak with the crazy human god."
####
Mephisto's Realm,
"Father, why are you so obsessed with him?"
"Why? You ask why?" Mephisto boomed from his throne, eyes glaring at his daughter, Mephista. "He's the one being I cannot influence, no matter what. And he was once a mere mortal. Look at him now!"
"He's quite handsome."
"..."
"Such vile thoughts! He's a creature of darkness, darker than me, my daughter! If I have to hear that mind-numbing song once again—Sharks… baby sharks? Why baby sharks?!"
"..."
Mephista stared at her father with a questioning look. "Why not just kill him?"
"Ah, yes, yes, I must… NOT kill him! He's an enigma, my girl! No, no, I must never kill him. That bastard will only grow stronger! Whatever kills him makes him stronger. Yes, by only entering his mind can I possess him. Yes, I shall—"
"I can pay him a visit. I heard he likes women. Maybe I can seduce him."
"You would do that for me?" Mephisto eyed his daughter with excitement.
"I would, Father," Mephista replied, lying through her teeth. She was just interested in the First Man and found him handsome.
"Hahaha!" Mephisto roared from his throne. "My daughter! I have faith in you."
Mephista sighed. She had seen her father's decline into madness while trying to influence the First Man. She couldn't help but feel that it was her father being attacked, not the other way around.
"I'll go prepare, Father."
She did want to dress nicely for the man she was interested in, after all.
####
Geneva, Switzerland, 1920,
For some grand reason, the wise men of Europe and a few other nations came together to create a group called the League of Nations. It was mostly an initiative by the victors of the Great War.
And for some very odd reason, the wise old farts decided it was wise to invite the First Man to come and inaugurate the League with his speech. Hence, on November 15th, 1920, Marshall arrived on his prehistoric raft with Marty at his side.
Then, with the flash of thousands of cameras, he spoke into the microphone that reverberated across the massive hall. Pens wrote down every word he uttered.
"Well, hurray, you won! So proud of your lot. You killed another ape-looking guy just as yourself. Mmm… want me to kiss your cheeks and pat your heads too? You know, I've watched your kind since you couldn't figure out which end of the stick burns, and you've been butchering each other even before that." Marshall scratched his ear, slouched against the podium, voice dripping with mockery.
"Inbred archduke of some pussy-ass horseshit castle croaks, and now tens of thousands of farm boys gotta die? Talk about bloody priorities. Guess who's dead, Alfred from the village. Guess who's still breathing? The old fucking generals and the so-called lords. I say a law should force wars only if the sons of every noble and every government rat march first. Poof, suddenly there would be no wars, not a single one, I swear."
Marshall didn't realize that by then the mic was already cut. Yet, he was naturally so loud that half of the hall heard him still. The journalists did, and that was what mattered.
"Dinosia doesn't do war. Folks there feast like gluttons, sleep like saints, study their asses off, break their backs in the fields, and laugh about it. No kings, no queens, no half-wit mustache clown crying because his fifth inbred cousin across the piss-river stole a spoonful of dirt. But what do I know? Tried thousands of bloody years ago, and you maggots still swing swords like angry toddlers.
"Y'all bleed red but still kill each other like changing borders means changing planets or some shit. Ugh, mind-numbing, come on, Marty. Half of them are rotten old fucks who won't make it to the next decade. Let them tongue each other's cock in a raging circlejerk."
Just like that, Marshall jumped on his raft and flew away, eastward.
The old men in the hall felt like cucks; their own event turned into their humiliation. The mic was cut, but they all heard what he said. And most of all, the newspapers heard what he said.
And without a doubt, the next day's papers came out with interesting headlines.
"First Man Scolds! Inbred Royals Cause War!"
"Inbred Royals Kill Young Boys! First Man Furious!"
"Inbred Nobles Fight For Land! Young Boys Fight For Food!"
"Dinosia Utopia! Europe An Inbred Chessboard!"
Clearly, the newspapers just wanted to call their rulers inbreds with any excuse they got.
####
1924, Kremlin,
"Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Squelch! Squelch!
The table creaked. The wet sounds were endless. Marshall was hard at work, still alert not to kill the poor beauty with his godly thrust. And fuck, she was one beauty. He didn't know her that well; Hell, he just met her an hour ago. But when offered a god's cock, not many refused.
Her name was Katerina, very typical for a Russian bombshell. She really was one: tall, slender, ripe tits, pale body, long blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty much future funny mustache guy's wet dream. In looks at least. And fuck, she was tight.
She was one of Joseph Stalin's assistants. The guy had just taken office as the last Linen sheets or something guy had died.
Plap! Plap!
Marshall watched below as the beauty lay spread on her back on the table, her long legs flat on his chest as she rammed balls deep in her mortal pussy. He watched her breasts jiggle, her face scrunched in pleasure, and wild moans.
"Fuck! You better… keep your word!" Marshall roared, loving the sensations of her warm sheath. She was close, however, he could feel it.
"Hah! I never go back on my word." Came the voice of a man from his right. He, too, was in the same state as Marshall, pants down, ramming in yet another blonde bombshell, her name Anastasia.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
"Oh! Daaa! Daaaaaa-aaah!" Katerina cried and erupted in an ethereal climax. She not just came, she squirted hard, gush after gush as Marshall kept ramming her snug tightness until he was on the verge, and with a victorious laughter, he squeezed out rivers of white stuff inside her. She was mortal and hence no risk.
He kept fucking her, so hard into her and his orgasm that by the time he really pulled out, she had come a second time. She was a mess, half awake, legs shaking.
He let her rest on the table and finally turned to the man who was sweating, frowning, unable to bring his beauty to completion.
"You lost," Marshall said with a grin and grabbed a knife from the table. "Time to shave that mustache, Joseph. Bet's a bet."
Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin, General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, accepted his fate. He had made a strange bet with a god. He had lost.
He was going to take it like a man.
"Leave a stubble at least, my godly friend," Joseph said in a thick accent.
"Dream on. I'm gonna leave you baby-faced."
Joseph sighed and let him.
####
USA, 1924,
A very strange thing had happened.
Uatu knew it. The TVA knew it. Something humongous had changed.
The 30th President of the United States was supposed to be Calvin Coolidge. But that never happened. For some reason, Warren G. Harding, the 29th President, retreated from the re-election race after a young man named Theodore Roosevelt Jr., the son of the 26th President, Theodore Roosevelt, somehow unearthed Harding's extramarital affairs and other scandalous actions.
Theodore Roosevelt Jr., a veteran of the Great War, was a Lieutenant Colonel before he stood for election. And somehow, he won with ease. Not only did his father's reputation help, but the nation's strange relationship with the First Man helped. Americans loved the First Man, but Congress hated him, or feared him.
Theodore Roosevelt Jr. won because the people hoped he'd bring back the good old days of his father. And so, at just 37, Theodore Roosevelt Jr. became the 30th US President, the youngest in history, too young actually.
And on the first day in his office, Theodore Roosevelt Jr. honored his now deceased father's wish. A regret that the old Teddy died with.
"Bring it here." Theodore Roosevelt Jr. ordered the Library of Congress curator to bring the massive glass frame into the Oval Office and place it on his table. It was his first day as the President, and this was his first action.
"Crack it open."
"Sir?!"
"Do it."
At the President's furious gaze and militaristic order, the old curator did as asked. But instead of breaking, he carefully opened the wooden casing and then removed the glass.
Finally, Theodore walked closer to the large piece of paper and, without ceremony, lifted it. And right there, under that page was a second page, just as large, with almost the same content… almost.
"This…!" the old curator gawked.
A few dozen more people in that office stared.
Theodore pulled that second paper out with even more care. "This… This is the true Declaration of Independence, with First Man's name on it, and his message."
The cat was finally out of the bag.
___________________
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