Personal Log: Stafford, Earl
Journal Entry #: 001
Date: 98/06/26

Fifteen years...

That's how long it's been since I've donned the star- spangled uniform. And, boy, the face of American life sure has changed -- along with the masks it wears.

Of course, I'm referring to the outbreak of costumed heroes across the country. Champions, guardians, vigilantes. In my day, they were all known as masked adventurers. But nowadays, more and more, they have an appropriate, more media-friendly name.

Super-powered heroes.

And with the emergence of the super-powered hero, so follows a criminal counterpart.

Fifteen years ago, these super-powered heroes were a rarity, but today they're everywhere. New protectors abound. Stronger, faster, more cunning and exotic than any masked adventurer of the fifties and sixties. Masked adventurers like myself.

But here I am, back as Old Glory. The government's answer to law enforcement and couterterrorism. I'm 65- years old, for crying out loud. My bones ache, my hair's white, and I'm probably senile. Worst yet, they've got me hooked on this damned drug, the T- Formula. I was introduced to it years ago, but now they've made it more potent, more...hard-core. It boosts my physical attributes in hopes to put me on a level playing field, but like I said, I'm hooked to it. Actually, my dependence to the T-Formula is far worse than any heroin addiction. A double-barrel addiction, doctors call it. I'm physically and mentally dependant on the damned stuff all because the government wants me to be on par with the young heroes and villains of today. Their answer to law enforcement and counterterrorism? For Christ's sake, I'm more like their punch-line.

I just have to remind myself that I'm not a superman. I know what I can and can't do; I know my own strengths and weaknesses. And I've learned -- along the road of life and death -- that knowledge coupled with action and wedded to total commitment would elevate any ordinary man into the ranks of the extraordinary.

Being extraordinary may imply pretension, but it definitely doesn't suggest perfection. My ordeal at Quartz was proof that I'm far from perfect.

As part of my return, I was given a tour of a Quartz detention facility in McLean, Virginia. Quartz is a division of the FBI, tasked with providing reactive forces against super-powered threats. They maintain detention facilities capable of holding super-powered criminals, and also maintain strike forces in half a dozen areas of the country...these strike forces normally mop up after the heroes are done thrashing on a villain, but occasionally get more involved. Quartz has some less public bureaus as well...I hear they deal with investigating possible sightings of little green men.

The Virginia facility was located in the middle of a field, and was replete with high tech security. The facility housed super-powered criminals until they could stand trial. It had cells with special inhibitor devices which could be quickly reconfigured to dampen a criminal's specific powers. A fence with a slight charge surrounded the premise to keep out tourists, but it wasn't enough to stop a potentially rampant escapee. Quartz had the utmost confidence in their inhibitors.

During the early morning tour, the facility was attacked by a troll-like creature named Trog. The monster seemingly burrowed out of the ground past the security fence, just outside the main building. He took one of the guards hostage, demanding the release of his mate, Trag. It wasn't the best of pictures. Half a dozen other guards surrounded this Trog character while the public relations liason, a young woman that could have been my granddaughter, clawed at my arm. Predictably, everyone pretty much waited for my cue.

I had to think quick. I knew this wasn't a usual hostage situation I was dealing with. I stood before a troll of sorts, and his gnarly hands were wrapped around a Quartz guard, a soldier. As a soldier, the guard was trained for worst-case scenarios. He knew the costs of working for a company that detained super- powered criminals, he knew the pains he might face. Now, the Quartz guards were armed, and I had a hunch that their sidearms were not weapons designed to kill but rather to stun. And so, I told the guards to fire on Trog.

It was perhaps the oddest thing I've ever seen. The guns' ammo peppered Trog, but instead of knocking him out, they just passed through him. The Quartz men continued to fire, and a stray shot hit the guard. But amazing enough, it passed through him as well. I wasn't prepared for this. Flashes of light flickered out of stainless steel barrels, lancing through the air, and pounded divots into the ground. None of the shots hit their target.

Finally, Trog released the guard and submerged back into the ground and was long gone. Moments later, the guard shrugged, and then disappeared in an arcing trail of multi-colored light. Nothing was left but a damned rainbow!

Unbeknownst to me at the time, what really happened was a diversionary tactic to breakout two prisoners by some confederates, Falstaff and Vivian, elsewhere in the facility. A check of cells later showed three inmates missing...Klash and Greyskull of the Mockery Brigade, and Skein, who was recently captured by a bounty hunter named Mark Battle. The cells of the three were all in the same area, so it wasn't clear whether the Mockery Brigade had recruited Skein, or if his inhibitor was damaged when the other two were broken out. The rest of the Quartz inmates were secure.

Working through the surveillance videos, I finally managed to piece together what happened. The guard -- who matched nobody in the Quartz or FBI records -- was actually a fake. He apparently merged with the burrowing Trog in a prismatic arc that stretched across the sky. Sophisticated illusions and teleportation, that's what they were. Signs of what I have to face in the world with its new brand of villainy.

I'm not going to write off my return adventure as a failure. In fact, it was a humbling lesson not for me, but for the government, showing them that an extraordinary man such as myself, is still just a man.