Preface: A meme's peaceful demise

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May 1945.

In a neighboring state of the now almost fully toppled but still not dead Great Reich.

Klara Risinger was still on the run, hiding, following the fall of the regime she was a groupie of.

She dashed out of some secret underground floor in a military and technological compound, where she had hidden something "prized" to her, and arrived at the pitch-dark, small cryptic room with a dull-looking, Stoic brown desk.

She went into a strange trance while staring at it, as if deranged and frenzied in her head. Similarly, she had tuned out the vibrating bombardments and other thunderous noises outside the base.

Holding a tiny experimental tube seemingly carrying some type of white, sticky-looking liquid, she mumbled, looking both enamored and under a spell,

She was also giving some blatant, woeful soldierly salute with her hand linked to her head's latch.

"Mein Führer…"

"I couldn't save you. But there's hope."

"What?"

"Ah well… yes, you see, I know I shouldn't have done this behind your back, but with this, the fight will not be over."

"…"

She paused and said in perfect English, after a nod,

"So long, great leader…."

Klara walked out slowly after she finished speaking in German with the dead, the gone, and telling him what she kept in her heart. Respectfully.

Then she fled the base as time and the months passed.

Occasionally, she was running, sometimes contending with hidden characters and other heroes from the Grand Alliance, which was in full and even stronger power.

Naturally, with all the fighting, her "prized project" failed nine months later. Due to an injury she sustained before the consummate fall.

Despairing at the time, Klara, now going by Liberty, had no idea that nothing was over yet.

Somewhere she would only think of going in the future, thanks to a woman even more out of sight but even more committed to the cause than she was, there would still be hope…

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In a thoroughly different world and dimension. 77 years later. The year 2022.

Earth. Floribama Shore. Panama Beach.

Vincent Zayne's whole life could be called a meme.

As an Ohioan living on the border of Florida and Alabama, he had all the American stereotypes going for him.

The 87-year-old man, born in 1935 but still in good shape, was completing his first set of weights at the gym with one of his most hilarious grandsons, the youngest.

This strange young guy who had come to seek counsel was the only one who had yet to leave the rathole for college or married a lovely young lady halfway across the nation.

Darryl, Vincent's immature grandson, was referred to as a "young man Darryl" by Vincent.

"Young man Darryl, you're asking for the secret of my old power? Didn't your older brother warn you before he left the bird's nest? Given his dislikeable and competitive personality, I wouldn't be surprised if you told me he didn't…."

The young man, Darryl, a tall 19-year-old with biceps and abs but a perceptible lack of confidence, shook his head and said,

"No. Granddad, don't beat around the bush; how do you stay so active at your age? Do you take any substances?"

Zayne, the old man, Vincent, chuckled. He inquired,

"Are you certain you want to find out? It's a long-kept secret. Once you've been told about this red pill, there's no turning back."

Zayne, the little boy, Darryl, nodded, his eyes wide with interest.

Vincent inhaled a big breath and said,

"Kid, there's only one thing you need to do if you want to be like me when you're my age. There are other advantages to doing so, but the main thing is to keep."

The confused Darryl asked,

"Keep what?"

Vincent smiled and took a brief look around the gym before saying,

"Keep your spunk. You must retain your sperm, young man."

Shocked, Darryl asked,

"What? You mean for how long? Years? How am I supposed to do that?"

Old man Zayne paused for a moment before declaring, full of tried experience and the failing vicissitudes that come with it,

"Long enough to look all the women and the world in the eyes. Even when you're spewing cocksure nonsense."

"…"

Sometime later.

Vincent was still laughing at his grandson as they finished their last set and reminded kindly,

"Don't look at me like this! This red pill isn't easy; it's full of failed attempts. You probably won't be able to stick to it at your age."

He and the boy left the gym after he told him about the red pill.

They then elaborated on historical figures and men of great courage on the way back home. A way back where Darryl was giving him a ride because he had had his driving permit for a few years now.

Some of the people they discussed, such as Mohammed Ali and Mike Tyson, Vincent looked up to. Others, he avoided mentioning their names for fear of inadvertently educating his grandson on interracial issues…

Vincent's own wife was not a majority.

Coincidence or not, he had far too many of those "snow-bunny" loving grandchildren for his peace.

Dozens.

Those were not words he chose.

Vincent had nothing against the light-colored majority he was from. Still, his gooselike wife and their cockeyed mixed-race son couldn't always say the same. The latter was far too hard on his children.

That's why they probably fled the bird's nest as soon as possible and never returned. This dreadful place where bias against various social groups was not always subtly hidden. Some of America's best and worst people may be found here on this shore.

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The same evening. On the matrimonial bed.

Vincent's wife was several years his junior. He was fortunate.

The dark-skinned wife was still a ravishing beauty in his eyes at the age of 76. In her case, what they said about not cracking never needed to be verified.

He closed his eyes after giving her some pleasure in a way that wouldn't interfere with his lifelong pursuit. Vincent had long since stopped being the type to use preservatives or do those things for simple pleasures.

What he did was mating. A lot of mating.

He gradually fell into slumber as he relaxed.

At the time, he had no idea it was his last.

Because the next time he opened his eyes, he was smaller and surprised, to say the least. By a stunning woman who strangely and suspiciously resembled a Marvel Universe enchantress he did recognize.

This woman was Morgan Le Fay…