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The year was 2068, not even a good number, and the apocalypse was not nearly as much fun as Jason thought it would be.
First, three of his team members die. Barry, Zee, and Jet, all in one go. That left him (obviously), John, Klarion, and Nabu to fend for themselves. There was no time to bury Barry and Zee, and a slim chance to get Jet back online, so Jason gave them a quick ritual burning and the four remaining members of the STAR team were on their way. After the nuclear fallout, Jason had to constantly cast a radiation-neutralizing spell on John so he wouldn’t die. Klarion processed the radiation differently, and while it made him a little sick, it would not be fatal. Nabu, and Etrigan’s physical body, were as fine as Jason was. For a while, Jason thought that maybe they’d survive, pick the civilization back up in a few years, and everything would be okay. It did not go that way. First John, when they had gotten separated and the spell had worn off. Then Klarion, when finally the constant poisoning was too much to bear, and finally, Nabu, when his body gave and crumbled under his suit and his helmet fell to the ground, empty. And then Jason was all alone, with an angry demon next to him, hissing in his mind. You let them die, Etrigan snarled at him. His own form had been twisted by time and bombs, the golden-husky form now bigger, the fur faded into an ugly grey. His red eyes were as bright as ever, his teeth huge and menacing. He truly looked like an unshadowed Hellhound. He was just as lonely as Jason was.It was 500 years before Jason found another living, sentient being. He’d gone insane by then, killed Etrigan’s physical form for food and left the pissed-off demon to rot in the back of his head. He kept Nabu’s helmet strapped to his belt, constantly searching for a live body to slap it on, so he’d have someone, anyone, to talk to. (Etrigan had never been much for conversation, even before Hell had come to Earth, and he was certainly not much help after.) He swung violently from overexcited to furious and angry, tearing at his own skin and hair in a desperate attempt to feel something. He’d rip off his own limbs, crush himself under piles of metal or bricks, just to be stitched back together by Merlin’s horrible magic. He never used his voice, except to scream or sing, both sounds crazed and ugly. His eyes were no doubt as wild as he is, and whatever shred of sanity he’d had was since thrown to the wind and burned by acid rain.
He was alone for so, so, so long. And then, finally, company. “Hey, Streaky!” A voice called from above. Jason had snarled, snapped around, eyes wild at how familiar the voice was. “Damn! What happened to you? Actually, what happened to this planet?” The first person to talk to Jason in centuries, and it was fucking Lobo. Just Jason’s luck that he’d be stuck with a man crazy as he was. But, when Lobo parked his bike on solid ground and stepped off, Jason had already tackled him. The last shred of his sanity, thought to be gone, had been pulled back once more to torture him. He sobbed into Lobo’s dirty shirt, gripping his jacket tightly and crying out his pain of a thousand years of lonliness. The year was 2986, and Jason, for the first time in a long time, was not alone. “Uhh.” Lobo said eloquently. He knew that being friends with humans meant weird situations, but he wasn’t ready for non-aggressive physical contact. He awkwardly patted Jason’s back, which made him cry harder. (Damn being touch-starved.) “Okay, bro, this is weird for me, so I’m just gonna push you off now,” Lobo stated, shoving Jason back onto the ground. “Are you going to leave me here alone?” Jason cried desperately, immediately struggling back to his feet. “I dunno, dude. Do you. Want me to?” Lobo asked, far too confused for his liking. “No,” Jason said. “Wherever you’re going, bring me with you.” “Streaky,” Lobo said, “Wherever I’m goin’, I’m gonna be givin’ some dudes a total frag. You sure you wanna be there for it?” Jason scoffed. “I’m not even going to tell you all the ways that sentence is wrong. Just get me off this stupid planet.” The helmet bumped against his thigh. “Oh, yeah. Also, I need someone to put on this helmet that isn’t either of us or a wanted criminal.” Lobo shrugged. “I’ve gotten worse demands. Let’s go, Streaky.” “My name is Jason.” “I know what I said.”
The year was 2986, and Mother Earth’s last child, her favorite child, was whisked away from her rotting, broken crust and into the glimmering cosmos. She took a deep, patient breath, and began to reconstruct herself.