Ultimate Shazam!
The names and characters used in this story are property of DC comics.
In the sands of what was once Khandaq, Egypt, many mysteries had been hidden and many shall remain that way. However, with help of local engineers and ancient texts, the Batsons were able to find the lost city's great temple. Crews with pick-axes and shovels went to work removing the sand that time had used to conceal the structure. C.C. Batson and his wife Marilyn stood by holding each other close.
Marilyn Batson's beautiful face shined golden in the Egyptian sun. It was as if she were a mortal descendant of fair and mighty Isis herself. Her shoulder length brown hair sat well atop her frame. Green eyes full of life taunted anyone foolish enough to believe she made the wrong decision in marrying C.C. Batson.
Clarence Charles Batson, preferably known as C.C., was tall, yet not imposing. At over six feet, he never forgot to be humble despite towering over most people. Despite serene sky-blue eyes, they held a deep passion for his wife and their teenage son, Billy. His hair was black, darker than the nights could become in Khandaq.
The Batsons were widely known in Fawcett City as the top archaeologists in the state. They taught at Fawcett University during the school year, however, while on summer vacation, they enjoyed nothing more than exploring history's mysteries. The present day, unearthing the ancient temple of Khandaq, was no exception. Hired by Fawcett Museum curator Dr. Thaddeus Sivana, the Batsons were charged with overseeing an excavation and to bring back anything of value.
Marilyn's eyes lit up when she said, "Oh, Clarence. This is so exciting. The legends about the temple of Khandaq date all the way back to the first Rameses. This is such an extraordinary find, like we were fated to rediscover it."
"Honey," C.C. said, kissing his wife's head, "I don't believe in fate. I believe in what should happen, and what does happen. This temple was never supposed to be found, but we found it all the same. Fate is just abbreviation for 'hind sight's twenty-twenty.'"
"Well, I believe it was Fate that brought you into my life, Dr. C.C. Batson," she said, pressing her lips to his.
Returning the kiss in kind, he smiled and said, "Like I said, Dr. Marilyn Batson, I believe in what should happen and what does happen. Fortunately, in my opinion, my meeting you was an instance of both; and that just doesn't occur very often."
They sighed in contentment, seeing the excavation crews clearing out the sand in front of a twenty foot-tall opening. Carefully, they stepped into the clearing with rags covering their faces. Each time they stepped into a catacomb on a dig they always approached with apprehension and excited glee. Marilyn and C.C. stepped down into the sand pit and grabbed the equipment standing by.
Sand particles gathered, giving time ample centuries to leave decay and rot behind. Without the proper protection, one could understandably fall ill to innumerous airborne diseases due to decomposed bodies in ancient tombs. The crew foreman handed C.C. a pair of surgical gloves. C.C. handed Marilyn a pair of gloves for her. "You ready to go in, Doctor?" she remarked after putting on her mask.
Applying thick leather gloves to both hands and shouldering a flashlight, C.C. replied, "Ladies first."
Six months later…
A young man of sixteen skated down the sidewalk. He swerved by pedestrians with graceful speed, causing many folks to shout and hurl obscenities. On his skateboard, Billy Batson wasn't as accomplished a skater as Tony Hawk, but he wasn't as clumsy as Goofy either. The wind whipped through his neck-length black hair and made his sky-blue eyes squint slightly. His long brown flight jacket curved like a cape behind him as he turned the corner toward a busy intersection.
Billy kept his eyes peeled. He had to make it home in time to get ready for tonight. Fortunately, he spotted a truck that was making a turn onto a street that led straight to his house. Propelling himself forward, he knelt down and grabbed the trailer hitch with his left hand. With his right hand, Billy adjusted his backpack.
After the truck sped fifteen miles closer to Billy's destination, he released the trailer hitch. Kicking his foot, he propelled his board faster through a tree-shaded street. Leaves kicked up along the asphalt in his wake. Realizing it wasn't too much further to the house, he pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. After pressing a couple of buttons, he waited, weaving between the sparingly few passing cars. "Freddie?" he said, kicking his board onto the sidewalk, "It's Billy, you home yet? Cool, what…What? Sally Dargento asked you to meet her at Gordon's grill house tonight? Sweet! Yeah, that's right she does have a twin. I think her name's Leslie. Hold on."
Swerving past a jogger, Billy continued, "Ok, I'm good. No, bro, I can't make it. I have to go with my folks to their opening of that Khandaq exhibit at Fawcett Museum. I know, digging up old ruins and coffins and stuff sounds boring to me, too. That big golden corpse-closet they brought back really spooks me. You'd think the guy would want to still be back in Egypt under mountains of sand and not be gawked at by a bunch of rich numb-nuts who don't know who they are in the first place and couldn't pronounce their messed up names if they did. Look, I'm almost at my house. I gotta put on the Sunday suit. I don't care if we haven't gone to church in years; I still call it my Sunday suit. Freeman, you'd better hope your jock's secure tomorrow." Snapping shut his cell phone shut, Billy slipped it back into his jeans pocket.
Billy kicked up his skateboard and ran up his driveway to a two-story red brick house. A white garage door laid shut like the white-painted wooden front door. The grass and hedges of the front yard were trimmed perfectly. Billy was in charge with keeping up the house while C.C. and Marilyn, his mother and father, were away on excavations. He never had any crazy parties while they were away, mainly due to the fact that he wasn't the most popular kid in Fawcett High School.
As the young man came through the front door, C.C. Batson stood with Marilyn in afternoon casual dress. They normally didn't do that unless they had company. The guest revealed himself, walking in from the living room. "Billy, this is Dr. Thaddeus Sivana, the curator at Fawcett Museum of Art and History."
Doctor Sivana held out a frail, skinny hand which resembled the rest of his body. It wasn't that the curator was really old, more than he didn't engage in regular exercise. "Billy, nice to meet you, son," the man said in a voice that struck the young man as ominous, not unlike a snake luring its prey with a glare. Billy was slightly taller, being able to see over the doctor's strange cranium.
Billy tried not to stare at the man's almost abnormally large head. It reminded Billy of last Thanksgiving's dinner when his dad accidentally dumped the salad bowl over Uncle Dudley's head. The young man couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as he said, "Nice to meet you, too, Dr. Sivana."
"You're laughing about the shape of my head aren't you?" Sivana said, his eyes squinting.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr…" Billy tried to apologize.
The curator held up his hand and said, "No need, I've heard it before and I'll hear it again." The curator and Billy shook hands vigorously and nodded in acknowledgement.
C.C. stepped in between them, placed his right hand on Billy's shoulder as he said, "We're trying to bring him into the family business."
Sivana nodded with a smile, "I see. It's a shame I'll never know the pleasure."
Billy lowered his head, then developed half a smile and said, "Well, neither will my parents, Dr. Sivana. They already drove Mary to Gotham University."
Marilyn interjected, putting a hand on Sivana's shoulder and saying, "Mary went there to study education, and she's been talking about doing an internship over at Fawcett High. Also, need I remind you young man, you aced the archaeological texts we faxed you from the last dig."
"Except for that one hieroglyph I never found the translation to; that guy inside the lightning bolt, remember dad? Instead of listening to Nickelback on my Ipod, I get to translate ancient Egyptian texts for my parents," Billy muttered with a gritted smile, "I'm the envy of every kid in Fawcett City."
C.C. looked at the handsome young man and smiled, putting his arm around him. "Well, son, we're all ready for the exhibit tonight. Treasures of Khandaq, on display for future generations to marvel at, what a show it'll be," he said, with a beaming smile.
Sivana nodded, gently removing Marilyn's hand from his shoulder. "It won't be much of a gala if I cannot write a good speech, Dr. Batson. I'm afraid public speaking is a PhD I had not acquired at Yale. I must be off to the museum to finalize the preparations and my speech. Billy, again, nice to meet you, uh, will you be at the exhibit tonight?"
Billy grimaced as C.C. spoke up in response for him, "Yes, sir. He will be with us on stage as you present the Khandaq exhibit wing."
As Sivana took his leave, shutting the door behind him, Billy groaned at his mom and dad. Billy said, "Dad, what the hell was that all about?"
Billy's father sighed out loud, "Billy, why do you have to make it difficult for me and your mother to seem respectable?"
Walking into the kitchen with his parents in tow, Billy set his backpack down on the brown wooden counter top. Sunlight made the room almost blindingly bright with the white wallpaper covered in sunflowers. Billy pulled a cup from the cupboard and said, "It's not my fault the Museum's going bankrupt, dad. There just aren't that many mysteries left in the world anymore, I suppose."
Marilyn sat down at the elegant wooden dining room table and said, "How can you say that? There's plenty of mystery left in the world, Billy. Like 'who built Stonehenge', for instance."
"C'mon, Mom," the son replied, "Stonehenge? You think the poor schmuck who came up with that wasn't high?"
C.C. sat down across from Marilyn and said, "Billy, I just don't see why you hate archaeology so much."
"I don't hate it, dad. But it's not the kind of thing kids my age are into," Billy replied, pouring a glass of soda from a can out of the refrigerator. Putting the can in the garbage and taking a gulp of the sweet beverage, he said, "Digging in the sand for the lost bathroom of King Wannabeleftalone. I mean, how would you like it if someone was digging Grandpa Batson up and taking his stuff?"
"My dad, though wealthy, didn't bury himself inside his mansion and then had said mansion buried with him, son," C.C. interjected, "also for your information, ancient Khandaq didn't have plumbing."
"Modern Khandaq barely has any," Marilyn interrupted, looking at her silver Timex wristwatch. Throwing a look at Billy, "Son, please come with us to the opening. It'd mean the world to me and your father."
Billy recognized the look his mother threw at him immediately, "Aw, mom, don't give me the puppy dog eye---Dad, please stop her, she's giving me the lost puppy look!"
C.C. shook his head and stood from the dining room table. "Billy, you know how that look is, once it starts you just cannot say no to it. I should know; five minutes after she gave me that look on our one year anniversary, we were engaged."
"Amazing it took you that long, Dad. Lasting five minutes against 'the look', you should interrogate prisoners at Gitmo," Billy said, before nodding his head and trying to shield his eyes, "Okay mom, okay! I'll go! Please, just put your real face back on!"
Mom smiled brightly as her and C.C's handsome young man slouched to his room, dragging his backpack. Holding her hand up like a gun and blowing on her index finger she said, "Still got it."
A mainstay of the town since its creation in 1917, Fawcett City Museum stood as a chapel to the wandering eyes of the curious. A gigantic Green and Red refuge, it was owned throughout its history by the Sivana family. Around it was a large parking lot holding expensive cars for the local news media as well as the elite of the archaeological society.
The main lobby of the museum held a capacity crowd of almost one hundred people. Reporters from as far as Metropolis and Gotham attended, as well as well noted archaeology experts from around the world.
A lone glass podium stood in front of a two hundred capacity populace. Written in enlarged golden cursive, "Fawcett Museum" was imprinted into the podium front. Behind the podium, a row of five chairs waited for their occupants with stoic patience. Adrian Mueller, the museum's curator took the first chair. Dr. Sivana placed himself on the second The Batsons, C.C., Marilyn, and Billy walked up and took seats at the last three chairs. The father and son sported matching black suits and ties while Marilyn beamed in a red sequin dress that stopped at her shins.
Dr. Sivana adjusted his olive green tie and jacket and pulled up his similarly colored pants. He looked out to the crowd before him, dreading the speech. He always hated speaking in front of large groups, even giving his valedictorian speech in high school. It was the perfect opportunity for him to lavish his mental superiority on the fools who picked on him and teased him. However, once he had gotten toward the microphone, Sivana vomited as he began his speech. The humiliation was unbearable. Hundreds of people laughing at him while his maid's eggs benedict from that morning rest on the podium, microphone and, most embarrassingly, his graduation robe. Even his parents took part in the hilarity.
As Dr. Sivana stepped up to the podium to speak, he kept that scandalous moment fresh in his mind. However, instead of the student body and his parents, his colleagues and the local media turned out to visit C.C. and Marilyn's findings from the sands of Khandaq. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Sivana said, clearing his throat before he continued, "It is with great pleasure and humble gratitude that you are all present to witness this milestone in our fine Museum's history. Tonight we will present to you, the treasures and mysteries of Ancient Khandaq, as well as the sarcophagus of its king, Adamtutamen-Teth. "
"According to ancient legend, Adamtutamen-Teth's mighty rule was brutal. The executions which, for the most part were perpetrated by Teth himself, were barbaric. Once it was said that Teth, in anger over sitting in judgment over a thief, snapped the thief's neck, after crushing both his hands. He then summoned the shopkeeper who the thief stole from. Saying that the shopkeeper should've watched his valuables more carefully, Teth then pulled out the man's eyes. As the shopkeeper knelt, screaming and bleeding, the monstrous ruler forced the man to ingest his own damaged orbs."
Upon seeing the disgusted reaction of the crowd, Sivana quickly said, "But enough about the Khandaq justice system, let me bring your attention to our newest and finest exhibit in Fawcett City Museum." With a thin pale finger, he pointed to a hallway to the left of the crowd. Velvet rope barriers and two large security guards blocked the red carpet which led to a pair of large gold-painted metal doors.
"That," Sivana continued in his speech, "Is the remains of the famed city of Khandaq. Restored to near perfection by our excellent restoration crew and overseen by the very archaeologists that without their discovery, no doubt you'd be having more interesting issues to cover, Doctors Clarence Charles Batson and Marilyn Batson. Please give them the honor of one obligatory round of applause, would you?"
The adult couple stood up in front of the crowd. Billy, however, kept his earphones on, concealing his Ipod in his jacket pocket. Marilyn looked over to her son and aggressively nudged him to stand up. "The strapping young man with them is Billy, their son. They hope one day he will join the family business," Sivana said with a glaring eye at the teen. It was his payback for laughing at his head earlier. Billy held up a shaky hand and smiled uncomfortably.
"We at Fawcett Museum owe a debt of gratitude to the fine doctors for this exquisite exhibit that you, the viewing public, will now enjoy. Gentlemen, if you will, please remove the curtain. Ladies and Gentlemen, established guests, I give to you now, the mysteries and histories of Ancient Khandaq!"
The crowd looked past the frail museum owner and gasped as the doors opened. A line formed immediately as archaeologists and reporters alike flocked toward the red carpet. Flash bulbs and mutterings filled the small mob pouring like molasses through a funnel into the exhibit. C.C. and Marilyn enter the exhibit through a side door with a still blushing Billy following behind.
As he entered the exhibition room, Billy the felt like he was entering the temple of Tutankhamen. The fifty-foot high ceiling was draped with golden banners reading "Welcome to Khandaq!" in black letters with quaint hieroglyphics painted above and below the letters. Each trinket, piece of jewelry, weapon or finely crafted replica had its own share of the hundred yard perimeter of the room. In the middle of the exhibition room towered a massive golden pyramid with an open entrance. Billy didn't doubt that it lead to a replica of the burial ground of Adamtutamen-Teth. His parents told him that Teth's own personal golden sarcophagus was inside behind a glass casing.
He hoped that Dr. Sivana knew that those hieroglyphics on the banners didn't really spell anything. That miserable, skeletal, salad-bowl-for-a-head-looking son of a bitch, he made him look like an idiot in front of those people. He knew it was for laughing at Sivana's head. Billy grunted and threw a sneer at Sivana while he and his parents made their entrance into the room.
The museum owner made his way toward the Batsons with his frail, thin hand extended. "Thank you, once again, C.C. for making this all possible," he said with a smile.
"You're welcome, Dr. Sivana," C.C. replied, shaking the offered hand firmly, "So, when can we expect our payment to come in for the job?"
"You will have it by the end of the week, my friend, it is a guarantee."
"It looks like the money will definitely be flowing from this exhibit," Marilyn said, staring at the large crowd spread across the gigantic room.
"If it were only the case, Marilyn," Thaddeus's voice became solemn as he looked at the crowd. He put his hands together and folded them over and over like a 1950's villain with a fetish for bondage and trains. "There was once a day when children as well as adults would come to these exhibits all the time. They'd learn marvelous things about the past. The history of the human race would always be at their fingertips. However, it can only be learned when it is called upon to be learned.
"These days, no one has the time to spend to take their family to places like the museum or the park or even the movies. It's always work, work, work; giving our lives and souls to the workforce so we can pay for the food on our table, the roof on our heads and the five thousand channels of nothing on our retard-o-tron called a television.
"Yes, there was a day, once, when people would marvel at ancient history. Now it's all Ipods and internet and who gives a damn about the social structure of feudal Japan, let's find out what Paris Hilton's doing or better yet, who."
Billy smirked, trying to stifle a chuckle. It immediately caught glares from all three adults. "What?" he said through a chortle, "It was a nice rant, doc. But saying that people don't care about the past doesn't stop them from not caring. C'mon, Dr. Sivana, what possible difference would learning about these things make to overall society?"
"Which society are you referring to, young man? Do you mean the one where culture, sophistication and responsibility move human progress forward; or the one where everyone sips Starbucks, chatting on their cell phones about meaningless political drivel instead of actually invoking change?"
Billy, his temper starting to flare, walked up to Dr. Sivana, their eyes meeting despite him being slightly taller. "I'm talking about the society that didn't wipe itself out believing in superstitious bullshit like gods in the air or gods in the underworld. A society where the only magic that exists is manufactured by guys who either think they're artists or guys who wear flashy suits that tend to attract hungry tigers. If these societies were so damned perfect, why are we looking at what they used to be instead of what they are now?"
C.C. pulled Billy away hard and said, "William Benjamin Batson! What's the matter with you!? You can't just talk like that to a guy who's helping us pay your allowance! You especially can't talk like that to a grown adult; I will not have it!"
With an angry glare, Billy said, "Dad, I begged you not to bring me here, I hate these things. As much as I love archaeology, all I want to do is hang with my friends and have a normal, healthy childhood!"
"What's not normal and healthy of wanting your child to grow up in the family business?"
"It isn't healthy if he thinks archaeology is a waste of time, that he'd rather shine chrome-dome's head with turtle wax and see if it casts a reflection than stand here looking at all these money-filled, collagen pumped, media whores gaze into a past they never knew nor cared about to begin with!"
"Alright, Billy; If you want to go home, I'll let you," C.C. dug into his pocket and put a fifty dollar bill in his son's hand. "Grab a taxi and let us know when you make it home." As Billy went to storm off, C.C. grabbed his arm and said, "Son, I love you."
"I love you, too, dad." Billy said, lowering his eyes. They knew the other meant it. No matter how angry they would get at each other over the study of the past, they never forgot the bond a father and son share.
After giving the Taxi driver the fifty dollar bill, Billy slouched over toward the front door to his house. He pulled out the spare key from underneath a wooden panel next to the doormat and let himself in.
He pulled off his tie and slung it on the floor. Walking into the kitchen, he passed the answering machine. A red light on the device told Billy that a message was recorded. Pressing a button, the machine said, Hey, Mom, hey dad. It's me, your favorite only daughter Mary. I wanted to let you all know that my internship at Fawcett high will start a little earlier than I thought. Next week in fact! I'll be home in a few hours and we'll discuss how to get Billy into the garage. If you're hearing this, just kidding', Bill.
Anyway, I'm packing my things while throwing a going away party at my dorm room. I promise, no drinking. Billy heard silence followed by a muffled gasp of refreshment. Anyway, I need to go, because my flight is leaving in an hour and a half, I am really wicked late to get out of here. Love you all, even you, wittle Biwwy. Bye.
"Great," Billy grumbled, tossing off his black suit jacket onto the living room chair. In one night, he'd almost got into it with the Fawcett Museum owner and his father. After riding all the way home in a smelly, torn up taxi, he learned that the bane of his existence, Mary Batson, would be home in a few hours to start interning as a teacher at HIS high school. He made his way upstairs and turned right, toward his bedroom, which was across from the upstairs bathroom.
Upon entering his room, Billy smiled, seeing his posters of Nickelback, Linkin Park, Eminem and Evanescence. On the wall above his bed hung a digitally altered picture of Jessica Alba where it looked like she was topless with her arms raised. Billy was a whiz at making those kinds of pictures. He remembered giving Freddie an altered picture of the Madonna-Britney Spears kiss at the Video Music Awards. He made it so they were both topless, but as a joke, he made Madonna's breasts sag like the old tub hag in "The Shining."
Tossing his dress shirt onto his bed, Billy sat back on his chair and rolled it toward his computer. His physique was not impressive by any standards but he thought himself pretty athletic. No one at school picked on him; however he didn't feel like he was part of any clique. He turned on his computer and waited for the minute it'd take to boot up. Clicking his mouse, he leaned back and started looking at different hieroglyphic websites.
It would be nice to tell his dad he finally translated the last hieroglyph. He felt his father would be happy that he made the breakthrough and hopefully put the fight at the museum behind them. It started out reading, "By this crest, Teth's fate is sealed, his deepest secrets never revealed; to sleep forever, him I damn, So says the wizard," and the rhyme stops. Billy searched for names that rhymed with 'damn' but so far he came up with none that fit the Egyptian hieroglyphic system.
He checked references to lightning and all he could come up with for the previous weeks, but with no luck. Billy figured giving it another try wouldn't hurt.
After hours of cross-checking, Billy seemed to hit the same wall as before. No name under the known Egyptian hieroglyphic system rhymed with damn and matched the lightning symbol. "Dammit!" he slammed his keyboard in frustration, causing it to link into a site featuring universally used symbols on ancient text and landmarks. Billy smiled wide. Why didn't he think of this before? Many cultures adopted symbols from others on rare occasions, but it did happen, to Billy's knowledge.
The symbol on the sarcophagus matched a similar symbol in ancient Greek texts, as well as ancient Hebrew and Canaanite scrolls. Under those symbols they all were translated "Shazam." Billy gave a satisfactory grunt and returned to the original hieroglyph file he read and said, "By this crest, Teth's fate is sealed. His deepest secrets never revealed; to sleep forever, him I damn, so says the wizard Shazam!"
Billy smiled and nodded his head in self-approval. All of a sudden, he heard a loud crashing noise, like thunder from outside. He rose from his chair and took a look from his window. He didn't see any clouds in the sky, but sure enough he heard the thunder once more. Perhaps he was losing his mind but he kept looking. Billy then spotted a glowing light in the sky, among the other stars. It seemed almost like he could open his window and touch it.
The light had touched first, shattering the window and throwing him backwards onto the floor, screaming in agony. Billy writhed on the floor as he felt energy and electricity surge through his body. He fought against his protesting muscles to push himself up but his screams revealed his futility. As he began to fade, he could've sworn a man was standing over him, wearing a white robe and sporting along gray beard. That very moment, he lost himself in darkness, surrounded by the glass from the broken window.
Spots appeared before Billy's eyes as he opened them. His hands felt heavy as he tried lifting himself off of the floor. His body still felt like trembling gelatin after an earthquake. Shaking visibly, Billy crawled and fought to his knees by pulling on his bed. "What the hell was that?!" he shouted. Looking at the clock near at his bed, Billy realized he'd be unconscious for an hour. He heard the front door shut downstairs. His parents were home from the museum exhibit unveiling.
Billy had no idea how he would explain the entire window being shattered. As he turned his head over toward the window, Billy expected to see slivers littering the floor. When his eyes fell upon the floor, no glass was to be found. Not one chard lay on the carpet. Billy stumbled to the window and put his palm against the pane. With widened eyes, he inspected the glass, finding no scratches, jagged edges, or anything else wrong.
He clutched at his head and fell back onto his computer chair. Was he going crazy? Did the last hour even happen? What was going on with him?
Thaddeus Sivana locked the door on his office in the basement of Fawcett city Museum. The gala was not the rousing success he had hoped it would be. However, it provided the needed money to keep the bank from foreclosing. He had finished three glasses of Jack before locking up. His tipsiness started to show with every step.
The museum was in financial sudden death overtime. Each new exhibit, though it cost nearly all he had, would keep him from losing the only good thing his family had ever given him. His parents were never very kind, at least to Thaddeus. They would be gone on expeditions, leaving him to be raised by nannies and tutors. It was sheer obligation they showed up to that fateful graduation ceremony where Cecilia's eggs benedict found their way back to freedom, landing on the white and gold graduation gown.
That was the second time tonight he had thought about that damned graduation day. It made him grumble as he stumbled through the Khandaq exhibit. Though only slightly drunk, a loud crashing sound startled him. "Who's there?" he shouted, pulling out a derringer from his jacket pocket. He'd kept it hidden in his desk drawer during the gala earlier that evening. "Show yourself!"
A low, grunting noise emanated from the fake pyramid in the center of the exhibit. As Dr. Sivana closed in toward the sound, gun drawn, his throat dried up. His hand began to shake as he turned the corner to the entrance of the pyramid. "I demand you show yourself or I will call the police!" No sound came in response other than the groaning of whatever pitiful creature lay inside the fake structure.
Leaning forward into the darkness with a concerned look on his face, he said, "Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor? I'm somewhat one." The room went quiet, which to the museum curator could mean whatever creature that was in such agony had expired. "I'll go alert the authorities!" he said, putting away his gun.
Turning away to run, he felt hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Startled at first, he turned quickly to find a six-foot six skeleton clutching at him. Meat and muscle clung vigilantly to the bones while organs pumped dust inside the body. Its eyes were gone and every inch of its bandaged, yet half-nude form was crinkling from decomposition.
Shrieking like a startled girl, Sivana struggled to free himself. Despite the decay, the creature proved far stronger than the curator. The monster's right hand lifted him into the air by his throat. From its mouth, spewing dust as well as words, it said, "Shu! Horus! Amon! Zehuti! Aton! Mehen!" Lightning burst through the ceiling of the museum and struck both beings violently. Sivana felt like his body was charging like a battery. The skeleton, however, decomposed rapidly into nothingness. As the lightning dispersed, a concussive shockwave sent both curator and monster flying away from each other. Sivana crashed onto the floor, while the remaining pieces of Adamtutamen-Teth were splattered against the fake pyramid.
Sivana struggled to get to his feet, but the blow from being propelled thirty feet through the air and landing hard on the floor forbade him. His eyes fluttered as his mind seemed to focus eerily on a single word. Before passing out, he muttered, "Shazam."
On the floor of the Khandaq museum, Dr. Sivana began to glow extraordinarily bright as electricity spread through his body, seemingly making him taller. His skull transformed from a salad-bowl shape into a perfectly rounded cranium. The wrinkles in the elderly curator's face shortened, smoothed out and disappeared completely. A face not his own supplanted Sivana's. Where once a frail old man lay, in its place was now a powerful, muscular figure. The black tuxedo fitting a man at five feet, four inches became rags.
The strange figure rolled over onto his belly and pushed to his feet. As he let out a groan, he stumbled toward a glass case where light from a ceiling fixture was reflected. Taking a look in the glass, the man that used to be Dr. Thaddeus Bodog Sivana grabbed his face, clutching at the skin. Sadistic laughter pierced the gigantic exhibition room.
The morning sun greeted the neighborhood of Cedar Hills in eastern Fawcett City. Birds chirped outside the window where Billy imagined that a lightning bolt had struck him. But that was impossible because the glass was completely intact and he didn't have a single scratch or burn mark on him. Most importantly, he hadn't felt any tingling from residual shock. In fact, Billy Batson had never felt better in his life.
He dried his hair vigorously after coming from a quick shower. He set the towel down on his bed and put on a white T-shirt with a "Fawcett High Gladiators" logo on it. The logo showed a roman-style warrior holding out a sword and looking menacing. Turning on the radio, an anchor woman chimed in, "As the Celtics went on to lose forty-five to sixty-seven. An update on the catastrophic destruction of Fawcett Museum this morning; rescue crews have so far found no bodies yet managed to recover several artifacts that remain intact. The building had burst into flames when a bolt from last night's brief lightning storm struck the roof of the building, causing the entire structure to collapse."
Billy turned off the radio with his eyes wide and his thoughts clocking mach two. He wasn't imagining the lightning that struck him. But how in God's name did the window get repaired? He couldn't tell his parents about the lightning bolt that shattered the window that isn't really broken. They'd think he was nuts. But then again, he was beginning to think he was already hanging on to the sanity thread by one hand already.
Looking at the clock, he couldn't worry about going in for a CAT scan. School was starting and he had to cover two miles in fifteen minutes. Putting on his usual red sneakers and blue jeans quickly, Billy made his way downstairs. Clutching both his backpack and skateboard, he shouted out to his parents, who were in the living room watching the "Today" show. "Bye, mom! Bye, Dad! Love you!"
"Love you too, Billy! You're late! You better step on it!" Marilyn replied with a wink and smile.
"Mercury's got nothing on me, Mom! See ya!" he said, shutting the front door. Billy kicked up his skateboard, settled his feet underneath and landed, coasting casually. With each push of his foot, he felt the wind whipping his face almost painfully. With a gasp, he almost missed a turn to the road leading up to the town square. "Whoa! Came up on it rather fast," he muttered to himself.
Traversing through the walkways and past bystanders, while as simple as it always is, seemed to take place a lot quicker than it had yesterday from his perspective. Maybe it was just that he was in a hurry and time was of the essence. Looking around as he kicked his foot down, propelling himself forward, he noticed that people were taking slower steps. Vehicles didn't seem to move as fast as they normally would. It felt as if time itself seemed to stagger just for him. That was cool; it meant he could get to school before opening bell.
Slowing down his pace seemed to allow time to flow normally around him, which when he reached the school at five minutes before the bell was to ring, was a good thing. Kicking up his skateboard into his hands, Billy looked around for his best friend. "Freddy!" he shouted. He didn't quite see him through the crowd. A hand clasped onto his shoulder, forcing Billy to turn around quickly. He stared into the face of his best friend, Freddie Freeman.
"Triple B," Freddy said, clapping hands and bumping shoulders with his best friend. They'd known each other their whole lives. Freddie's father worked with Billy's father as a member of the staff at Fawcett University. While Billy's father taught, naturally, archaeology and ancient history, Freddie's father specialized in social and racial issues. Freddie, being born of a black man and a white woman, felt first hand the slings and arrows of outrageous attitudes and prejudices.
"Man, I had the weirdest night last night, bro," Billy said, walking with Freddy, "I left the museum early and…"
Freddy blurted in interruption, "Did you hear about that freak lightning storm that blew that place all to Hell?"
"Yeah, about that…"
"Did your parents get out of there alright? I mean I didn't know if the party was over or who was left or what not."
"They said it'd happened earlier this morning, but my parents got in around midnight so they're fine."
"That's cool, bro." Freddy and Billy entered Mrs. Rassmusen's classroom, which was their homeroom class. After taking their seats, sitting side by side, Freddy said, "So, I was talking to Sally and tried to work you in with her twin. You and her will be meeting later tonight at Fawcett Theater for an advanced screening of "Love Story 3: Reunion."
"'Love Story 3?' Oh my God, a chick flick?" Billy belted out in disgust.
Freddy sighed and leaned back in his desk, saying, "It's the only way to get her to go out with you. She's a big fan of the 'Love Story' movies. Plus you'll be taking her to the Outback steakhouse next door for dinner afterwards."
As the bell rang for homeroom to begin, Billy said, "Well, I thought women wanted men who were spontaneous."
"You see, my brother from another mother, your idea of spontaneous is taking a date to spot constellations, look at different word processors at Computer Hut, and give them a pop quiz in ancient Mayan civilization."
"Blame my parents, I think they instilled in me too much of the boring side of Indiana Jones."
"It'd be better instilling archaeology than paranoia about 'the man.'" Freddy leaned back, his face toward the ceiling.
Billy leaned in slightly. He could tell what was troubling his friend as he said, "Was your dad going on again about how Fawcett College would rather fund my dad's research project instead of your dad's?"
"Well, he HAD to know the board wouldn't fund a research project that would, as he put it, 'expose the President of the United States creating the hurricane that wiped out New Orleans. Plus, he controlled it using an XBOX controller."
"XBOX? Why not just use the old school Nintendo controller. No toggle sticks, just the usual directions, A, B, Select, and Start buttons. It'd do the job nicely."
"I figured he'd just as soon use a Wii controller and do it that way. At least you'd exercise more than just your fingers," Freddy chuckled. They settled into their seats as the final bell rang, signaling the beginning of the class period.
In a brownstone on the south side of Fawcett City, a doorknob turned unwillingly, breaking off of its moors. The sound was followed by lowered mutterings. The door itself jettisoned off the hinges, crashing into the living room. The wooden/polyurethane object destroyed a glass coffee table in the middle of a zebra-skinned carpeted floor. The living room was surrounded in dark green painted walls with various portraits of Doctor Sivana.
A tall, tanned, muscular man entered the room. His magnificent torso was on display for the world to see. As proud as he was of his body, Adamtutamen-Teth didn't feel the need to draw more attention to himself than the swoons of the passing women (and oddly enough, some men). He hadn't fully adjusted to the transformation and being in this strange new era.
Once he had left the museum to burn, he wandered the streets for hours in Dr. Sivana's destroyed tuxedo. He happened upon a man sipping some kind of liquid in a glass bottle and spouting about bringing "sexy" back, whatever the Anubis that is.
It wasn't even worth the effort to slap the bottle and several teeth away from the man, yet he did so. While the fool bled all over the shirt, Adam tore the rags off of his own body. He then demanded the man dress Adam with his own clothes before he bled too much on them. He responded with spit. Adam responded back by putting him through a wall and taking the man's pants.
His might was the same. He'd made sure of that earlier with that puny little man he now inhabits. Locked forever inside will he be, never to escape. His name, however, would prove useful. There was indeed much to do and little time to do it. No doubt Shazam was free and already training the new champion to seek out and defeat him once again. He would have to put an end to that and soon.
"First thing's first," he said. Adam walked over to the telephone and began dialing. Another use for the good doctor was that he had extensive archaeological contacts. "Kahmed Mahmoud? Good evening to you, sir. My name is Adam Sivana. Thaddeus was my father. I regret to inform you that he is no longer with us. Yes, there was a terrible accident at the museum and he did not survive. I will not be taking on my father's position as curator. With that in mind, I will no longer need your services. I wish you luck in every endeavor." With that said, he hung up the phone abruptly.
Adam breathed in deeply and sneered at the look of the apartment. Even though he had no clue what half of the items in the abode were, he could tell the theme was 'pathetic.' There were no utensils to cook with, nor pots or pans in the cupboards. The only kind of food he could discern being ingested by the old man were "micro-wave-able" dinners. Apparently, the man's brilliance had nothing to do with culinary pleasures. However, Adam realized he would have to learn to adjust his palette to the tastes of this century. Who knows? Perhaps he would learn to like chick-en.
End part 1