| “ | I came looking for local color. But you surpass my wildest dreams!
— Ken Clarkson
|
” |
Ken Clarkson was just a normal businessperson when his life changed after meeting an armored superhuman from outer space by the name of Aric of Dacia. Aric was a Visigoth warrior from the time of the Roman Empire who was abducted by an extra-terrestrial species called the Spider Aliens. After spending years as a captive of the Spiders, Aric escaped by stealing their advanced war armor, fighting them off with it, and flying off into space. When he finally returned to earth, almost 2 millenia had passed and the world had changed from the last time he'd seen it. And so the barbarian asked Clarkson's help in adapting to this new era.
Throughout the earlier arcs, Ken and Aric's relationship began with a bad start. At first, Ken saw Aric as nothing more than a dumb barbarian, while Aric saw Ken as a mere weak coward. Their friendship was wrought with fighting, insults, and even betrayals. But they soon found mutual respect to one another throughout their adventures, as Ken's cunning, intellect, and soft personality complimented Aric's brutish strength, power, and combat skills. They soon worked together in not only fighting the spider aliens, but also in taking over Orb Industries, and battling other superpowered menaces from the Valiant Universe.
Fun fact: Ken Clarkson was one of the earliest openly gay primary characters in comic books.
Battle vs. Chas Chandler (by Killermoves)[]
Paris was in a gloomy state this time of the year. It was almost midnight and no stars could be seen as heavy clouds covered the whole sky. Large cold rain fell from the heavens and flooded the Parisian streets. All the locals were huddled in their little homes and apartments, not wanting to fight the rain to go out on a stroll. It seemed that the city known for its warmth and love was in a state of cold loneliness.
And yet, in this deluge, a lone Englishman was running in the streets, desperately trying to find some refuge from the rain. His name was Chas Chandler, who was a taximan back home, but now a down on his luck tourist here. As Chas ran, holding his jacket on his head, and trying his best to hold on and cover it, all his mind could do right now was to curse and be pissed.
“Chas I need your help now mate and I need you to hurry. I’m in Paris right now and Jesus wept a lot of bad shite’s happening here. I need you to hurry to my apartment, go to my bed and grab this large paperbag on top of it. And then get here in Paris as soon as you can because the thing inside is something that’s going to help me stop this shite. Don’t worry about the costs gettin’ here cause seriously the whole world needs you right now!”
Those words were the last thing he heard from his dear old mate John Constantine on the phone. And like a stupid dancing monkey, Chas took the bait, thinking that his wizard friend was in some tight supernatural trouble and that the paperbag may contain some macguffin that would help save the world.
But to his damn surprise, the bag contained nothing more than hashish. His friend John Constantine was not battling demons or waging wars against warlocks; he was just high and wasted in some weed joint and “asked” poor old Chas to get more of the exotic stuff to share with the junkies he just met. There was no danger or “end of the world” situation, it was typical John Constantine being the biggest asshole in existence, and Chas being the biggest dumbass to ever fell for him.
And now Chas Chandler was stuck in Paris, wet and super angry. He was hoping that the city of love might make the journey at least bearable, but the heavy rain raging these past few days made even sightseeing almost impossible. This shithole wasn’t that different from the hole he just left all the way back to the channel.
However, his luck seemed to have changed as he spotted an open club in the distance. Its bright lights were enticing to Chas’ weary and wet eyes, and the first thing that came to his mind was the warmth and grub that it could provide. Without second thought he went running straight to the place, and as he got closer, the buzzing party music was getting louder which gave him comfort. He finally arrived inside the club and its dry atmosphere felt heavenly to him. The people there looked a bit odd but he didn’t mind since there was a bar and a whole cabinet of liquor that he could enjoy for the night.
***
As Chas took a seat in the bar, on the other side of the place stood another individual who was also having a bad night. His name was Ken Clarkson, an unhappy little Orb employee who was in Paris for business. They were supposed to attend an international trading convention to represent their company back in New York. But alas, the director of their company was nowhere to be found, and it wrecked Ken's whole plan.
“What do you mean you’re not coming, Aric?!” Ken said on the phone at the corner as he talked to the “acting” director, who unfortunately, was not acting like one. The man he’s talking to was Aric of Dacia, a Visigoth who was abducted by aliens and was now living among them as a superhero. Ken should have known that this barbarian wouldn't be disciplined or “civilized” enough to keep time like any modern folk. But then again, Aric was the X-O Manowar. If this guy was able to save the world countless of times, Ken hoped that a simple business meeting wouldn't be that difficult for him.
“Aric, you are the CEO of Orb Industries. You need to be here!” Ken yelled. “And don’t give me that crap that you’re out there saving the world. I am not falling for that shit again! I know that you are drunk in some whorehouse right now and damn it, man, you are seriously fucking this up!”
As Ken continued to talk to the phone, his voice was getting louder and angrier, to the annoyance of the patrons, including Chas Chandler. “Fuck you Aric! I want you here right now! Like this fucking instant! You better get your caveman’s head out of your ass, use the X-O suit, and fly here as fast as you can! I know how fast that thing can go so plea—”
And then Ken heard a beep, before a long silence filled his ear. Aric had just hanged up on him, and probably wouldn't be calling back soon. Enraged, Ken threw his phone to the wall and took a shot from his glass. The gay man was having the worst night of his life, and that one shot he just gulped wasn’t enough. He then stood up and started walking to the bar, pissed, in the hopes of getting even more booze to help them get through the night. And he was walking straight to Chas Chandler’s direction.
***
“Give me three shots of scotch, a couple of whiskey, and one big fat bottle of cold beer, garson,” Ken said in a pissed-off mood. Chas watched as this person in a suit gulped each of those shots down his throat like it’s the end of the world. With a heavy and dizzy head, Ken took a sip of his beer next, before turning his eyes towards the still watching Englishman besides him.
“How about you, honey?” Ken asked. “You want me to buy you something to drink? I can use a company right now.”
Chas turned his sight away from the drunk and went back to drinking his mug. He then said, “I’m not in a good mood either and I hate talking, so piss off.”
“I like your accent,” Ken replied, drunk. “I really really need someone to talk to right now. It’s been one crazy night, and I don’t care if they're old or butt ugly. Hell, I can even make it worth your while…”
Chas looked at him with disgusted eyes before saying in a loud harsh voice, “The fuck is wrong with you? What are you some fuckin’ queer? Get the fuck away from me, you piece of shit.”
The Englishman's old-fashioned insult echoed throughout the whole club. Ken looked at him with a confused but furious look. The music that was playing suddenly stopped, and the crowd halted what they were doing, before giving Chas a mean glance. What he said didn’t just strike Ken’s nerves; it seemed that the place didn’t like what Chas said either.
“You got some guts saying that, grandpa,” Ken said who seemed to not be able to get a break. And now he would have to go deal with this horrible homophobe next.
“Do you even know that you’re in a gay bar, you fucking asshole!”
With that revelation, Chas turned his head towards the patrons in shock and embarrassment. The place that Chas had been was a gay bar all along, which explained all the bright lights, the odd music, and even the weirder people. And speaking of those patrons, they had been watching the two argue and they did not like Chas one bit.
“Listen, I don’t have any problems with you people,” Chas said to the crowd as he tried to calm them all down before they chase him back into the streets. “I just want to get off the rain, that’s all. I mean no disrespect to the lot of ya’. I mean, I have a friend named Constantine who’s also—”
“Ah yes, the good old ‘I have a gay friend so I’m not a homophobe’ excuse,” Ken interrupted. “I think it’s time for you to go now, old man. Go back to the 1950s where you belong!”
Ken then grabbed Chas shoulder with his metallic arm and tried to throw him through the door. But Chas body flew and crashed into a wall instead. The rest of the people lost their nerve as they saw a fight brew up, and they all bolted out of the club before they too could get hurt. Chas then stood up, trying to breath away the pain from his back, and grabbing a nearby baseball bat for defense.
The businessperson stood up, drank the remaining beer off his bottle, and charged at Chas. But the taxi driver managed to side-step away and hit Ken on the back of the head with the bat. “You want a fight, mate? Then I’ll give you one!”
“Oh, it is on Mr. Buckingham Palace,” Ken said before grabbing a knife. He tried to swipe and slash at Chas but the latter managed to back away and dodged Ken’s attack. Chas then front kicked Ken, pushing him away before he could do more damage with that knife. He then smashed his bat on Ken’s right ribs, forcing Ken on his knees as he clutched his sides with pain. It seemed that Chas’ street fighting skills were paying him off tonight.
Coughing up blood, Ken looked up and dodged another swing to his head. Although Ken was still crippled in pain, the automatic defenses of the Shanhara arm flared up, and it instinctively caught Chas’s bat. With great strength it easily threw Chas away, before throwing Ken’s knife with great accuracy on Chas’s shoulder. Chas yelled in pain as the blade embedded itself on his shoulder, making him drop the baseball bat he was holding.
Ken managed to finally get himself back up, and seeing Chas weakened on the club floor, Ken took the opportunity to draw his fire light pistol. He aimed the pistol at Chas but as he pressed the button, Chas managed to roll out of the way, just in time as a fiery red laser hit his position, and make it burst into flames. Seeing himself outgunned, Chas dove into the bar and took the Ace of Winchester out of his bag. He then fired several rounds at Ken, but Ken managed to either dodge those shots or block them with his metal arm.
With his opponent pinned down, Chas desperately grabbed a marker and drew sigils and circles on the floor. He knew that nothing he could do could penetrate that bastard’s prosthetic, and with zero options left, Chas turned to magic. He planned on unleashing the Knowledge with the hopes of taking down Ken Clarkson and send him to hell.
“Bums tits and arse?...” Chas said as he tried to remember the enchantment. The pressure of the battle was making it difficult for poor old Chas Chandler to pull off the magic perfectly. And as he desperately tried to chant the magical incantation, Ken saw his chance to finally finish this fight. He aimed his laser pistol at the cover that Chas was in, and blew up the whole bar into a thousand burning pieces. Chas was thrown a few feet away with the back of his jacket in flames, his attempt to use magic having failed. Ken ran as fast as he could towards Chas before the Englishman could pull off any other crazy shit. He kicked Chas in the side as he laid down on the ground, before Ken picked him up from his neck with his prosthetic.
“You should have given us more respect, old man,” Ken calmly said knowing that he had already won.
“No. But you and your little friends can go to hell,” Chas stubbornly replied.
And without any further talk, Ken broke Chas’s neck with a loud snap using his metallic arm. He then threw Chas’s lifeless body back on the floor, his nose dripping with blood, and his eyes wide open and soulless.
Ken then promptly left the club before the French police could arrive and arrest him. He started jogging back to his hotel even as the rain continued to pour. This night just kept on getting worse and worse for everyone.
Expert’s Opinion[]
While Chas had superior training, experts believed that Ken’s metallic arm proved to be more useful than the powerful-yet-slow Knowledge spell. But what really sealed the deal was Ken’s intellect which countered Chas’ reliance on brute strength.
To see the original battle, weapons and votes, click here.
Battle vs. Question (Renee Montoya) (by Killermoves)[]
Prejudice was a mask. A mask that covered hatred and apathy with reason and tradition. A way to blame the problems of the world on the existence of a few people. A selfish solution to uniting humankind by forcing conformity while shunning the different.
The mask was also a venom sold as an antidote. An addictive substance consumed and praised in the expense and the anguish of the few. It spread from person to person, manipulating minds, destroying many lives.
It reeked, it coiled, and it never let go. Many societies were built upon it, many people were adherents to it. It was the great villain, the most subtle divider. There it went and would go and disappear, but rose up from the depths of hell as hatred closed the hearts of people.
A few small communities existed that shunned prejudice. Tiny havens of safety and security where anyone could be whoever they want to be. Free from pain, free from judgment. Where empathy was upheld and shared and taught.
The University of the Philippines in Metro Manila was having its annual gay parade festival to honor Pride Month. It was a time for the LGBTQA+ community to dress up, be themselves, and parade their identities to the public. Blessed by good sunny weather, it was a time of fun and enjoyment for the minorities. And watching that parade were two American tourists holding each other’s hands. They were a same-sex couple who came to enjoy the event.
One of those tourist was a black-haired Caucasian, wearing a dress jacket, a tie, and an orange prosthetic arm. His name was Ken Clarkson, a businessperson who was on vacation. With him was another gay man named Josh Glenn, a fellow Caucasian with blonde hair and a more muscular build.
“This is magnificent,” Ken said. “I would love to meet these people later.”
“Me too,” Josh replied. “Would you excuse me, honey? I have to find a trash can.”
“Sure thing! Don’t go far, okay.”
Josh walked into the crowd and found a rectangular metal bin near the road. Expressionless, he opened the lid and placed the content of his bag inside. He took a last glance at Ken before going away into the opposite direction.
Unbeknownst to him, a silent vigilante was watching him from the rooftops. The vigilante was a long black-haired Latina, wearing a white tank top, blue jeans, and a blue fedora. The most peculiar characteristic of hers was her face, or lack thereof. Her name was Renee Montoya, also known as the Question. While all the homophobes and the jerks and the intolerants wore the mask of prejudice, her mask was the mask of justice and protection.
As a lesbian, Renee would have loved to watch and enjoy the parade. But she didn’t come here for pleasure. She’d been tracking this Josh Glenn, this terrorist, and now she had him on her sights.
Or did she?
Fucking dumb, Renee! she said to herself. Why the fuck didn’t you stop him? Why did you wait for him to put that bomb?!
The vigilante took her eyes off Josh, grabbed hold of a pipe, and slid down onto the street. She rolled as she hit the ground, surprising the people present. Renee then ran to the metal bin and began pushing it, as fast and far as she could, with all the strength of her arms and legs. She found a large rotting abandoned building and decided to take the bin there.
She barely got out when the bomb inside the bin exploded, destroying the building, forcing everyone to flee. Luckily, no one was hurt so far. But another day of celebration had been turned into a day of terror.
I should have taken that bomb disposal seminar Sawyer suggested back then, Renee thought.
As she stood up, planning to get out before the local police showed up, she saw Josh who watched what she did. Angered by her intrusion, Josh pulled a revolver and aimed it at Renee. With quick reflexes, she dodged Josh's aim as he pulled the trigger. And before the terrorist knew it, in a blur Renee appeared in front of him and gave him an uppercut to the gut. After Josh fell to the ground, Renee got on top of him and just began railing on him madly.
“Take this… you… fucking… piece… of… shit!” Renee said with now bloodied fists.
“No!” Ken yelled as he came to Josh's rescue, punching Renee away with his metallic arm. “Honey, are you okay?!” Ken asked, but no reply came to the bleeding disoriented Josh. Horror did fill Ken’s face as he stared at the woman without a face — the appearance of someone straight out of a horror movie.
“What kind of a monster are you?! Doing something like this?! Ruining this parade and hurting my boyfriend?!”
“You don’t understand—“
“Shut up!”
Ken took out his fire light pistol from his jacket and fired at Renee. The vigilante tried to dodge it but the laser proved faster, incinerating her back. Grunting, Renee rolled to the ground and into cover behind a car, extinguishing the flames. Ken fired again and his pistol made the car explode into a fireball.
Thinking he had won, Ken headed back to where Josh laid. But suddenly, arms wrapped themselves around Ken, lifting him up before suplexing him to the ground. Renee then flipped into the air and landed in grace, as Ken remained gritting in pain. The vigilante then dashed towards Ken, intending to kick his face into unconsciousness. But Ken’s metallic arm caught Renee’s leg before throwing her away to the concrete wall of another building.
“It’s not going to be that easy, bitch!”
“Fuck off, terrorist-loving skank!”
Renee then pressed a button on her belt that released a large thick cloud of gas that engulfed the whole lane. With his foe nowhere to be found, Ken backed away and picked his pistol that he dropped. A blast of energy then came out of nowhere and struck Ken’s metallic arm from behind. Ken turned, saw Renee on top of another small building pointing her own futuristic pistol, and fired at her.
Renee sidestepped, barely dodging Ken’s aim, and fired back with her intergang pistol. The vigilante scored a bulls eye, hitting Ken’s fire light and disarming him of his weapon. Instinctively, Ken raised his metallic arm to block more shots from Renee’s pistol. He then pulled a metal bench off a sidewalk and threw it towards Renee in sudden speed.
“Shit!” Renee yelled as she tried to dodge that bench. The latter took out a whole edge of the building where Renee was standing on. While she dodged a certain death-by-chair, her decision still ended with her falling to the street in a loud thud.
Renee could only remember waking up from a deep black slumber with the worse headache of her life. The first thing she saw was Ken aiming his fire light at her.
“Why?” asked Ken. “Why did you fucking do this?!”
“I-I was trying… to help,” Renee replied. “Your boyfriend… is a fake. His name is Josh Glenn. The Hate-Monger! And he’s a criminal and a fascist terrorist. He came here to kill people with a bomb.”
“Bullshit! He came to enjoy this place with me!”
Suddenly, a shot rang out, and Ken felt a searing hot pain in his abdomen. He fell down and clutched his wound, as if someone had placed a hot coal inside his belly. A revolver was then aimed at Ken’s face as he cried.
“You fucking idiot!” Josh laughed. “That Ms. No Face is right. I came here only to kill you people.”
“W-Why?!”
“Why?! Because you freaks are the ones that are destroying this world! You are ruining everything with your filth! I planned on coming here to make a statement. A statement that you are not welcomed here! That you shouldn’t exist!”
“P-Please…”
“Look at how pathetic you are! I knew the first time I saw you that you should be part of this. That you should die here. A fucking queer like you, who became successful through the institutions we and our religion built, while we ourselves suffered in the dirt, should fucking die!”
But before Josh could pull the trigger, Renee managed to reach for her intergang pistol and shot him. The blast from her pistol disintegrated the lower half of Josh's body. The terrorist dropped to the ground, screaming and dying.
“No!” yelled Josh, his mouth spewing blood, as he looked in horror as his legs where nowhere to be found, and his guts spilled across the road.
“Sorry asshole but we are here to stay,” retorted Renee.
Renee then left Josh to his fate as she helped Ken back to his feet. “Am I… going to die?” Ken cried.
“You’ll be alright. I know how to patch you up,” Renee said back.
“S-Sorry about… what I did…”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You and I, we stick together no matter what. We each have each other’s backs.”
The machinations of hate twisted truth, and whoever controlled truth could bend society. It were in these dark moments where truth was in the hands of the cunning and the evil. But even in the face of an impure truth, shapeless and twisted beyond logic, lost in the conspiracies, the fakes and the lies, there were people who banded together who carried the true truth. The truth of life being about love and joy and the freedom to be than to pretend. Renee and Ken might have began this day in guns and fists. But through love and acceptance they found a common cause to preserve and protect.
Expert's Opinion[]
Both were equal in terms of ranged weapons, but while Renee Montoya has an edge in training and experience, these are trumped by Ken Clarkson's prosthetic hand which offered strength, durability, and an automatic defense system. Experts also believed that Ken is smarter too so he wins this fight.