Wil Wheaton's Blog, page 121

In which I realize I need to say Thank You...

On Sunday, I was personally offended that Chris Brown performed at the Grammys. Violence against anyone is never okay, but the quiet acceptance of violence against women we see all over the world is especially reprehensible to me. Allowing someone who beat his girlfriend so severely she was hospitalized to perform on a national stage -- and then framing it as some sort of comeback -- didn't sit well with me. Celebrities -- especially pop music celebrities -- are role models, even when it's inconvenient for them, and what they do and how they treat people matters. So I posted a link on Twitter to the police report, just to remind people who they were celebrating.

I'd say about 98% of the repsponses I got were from people who thanked me for speaking up, but the remaining 2% were pretty awful: vulgar, barely-literate, blaming the victim, blinded by celebrity, convinced that it's something I should just get over and forget about, and -- incomprehensibly -- self-identified as devout Christians.

While I didn't take their anger and heartfelt wishes that someone "beat my ass" personally (it genuinely made me sad for them and their families), it has brought into sharp focus something I didn't even realize I've been taking for granted: I'm really lucky that the overwhelming majority of people I interact with -- many of whom I will never meet in person -- are kind and awesome to me.

So I wanted to take a moment and say thank you to you, person-on-the-other-end-of-the-Internet, for reading my various Internetty things, and for not only supporting my work, but for being kind to me. I sincerely hope that your kindness, your enthusiasm for making cool things, and your general awesomeness doesn't just exist online when you comment on something I did; I really hope that it extends into your daily life. I hope you're out there, every day, making the world a more awesome place.

The world needs more awesome people, and one of my dreams is to build and maintain Crazy Awesome Army... I didn't really focus on it until this week, but we're off to a pretty good start.

The Adventures of Lil' Cthulhu

Because this is too awesome not to share:

(Thanks to Amy Brown for the link!)

From the Vault: "...because Next Generation FUCKING RULES!"

I'm digging into The Vault for stories to tell next week when I perform on JoCoCruiseCrazy 2: The Encrazening, and I caught myself reading this story, which I wrote and published in Dancing Barefoot, when I was a baby writer almost ten years ago. 

This is from The Saga of SpongeBob Vega$ Pants (or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love Star Trek) also: Put Some Thought Into What You Name Things, Kids, Because You May Find Yourself Telling a Story With A Stupid Title Ten Years After You Wrote It.

I sit at my table, uncap my sharpie, and put on my gameface. 

My pen hand is strong. I'm ready to be witty, charming and friendly. Although the actual number of autographs I've signed over the years is probably close to half a million, I am ready to make these fans feel like the autograph I'm currently signing is the only one I've signed all day, maybe the only one I've signed in my whole life.

Over the years, I've learned something from this experience: it's never about the signature. It's about that brief moment, that brief encounter with a Star Trek cast member, that is so important to the fans. That 30 seconds or so of hopefully undivided attention is what they're really paying for, and I always do my best to make sure they get their money's worth. Contrary to popular belief, sitting at a table signing hundreds of autographs for several hours without a break is hard. It's not just mindlessly scrawling my name; It's stopping and listening to the always excited, sometimes shaking, always sweating, sometimes scary dude who wants to know exactly why I did "X" on episode "Y" and would I please sign his picture in silver, because Marina signed it in gold and now he wants the men in silver and the women in gold, and I hated your character and here are 25 reasons why and I expect an answer for each one of them and I'm not leaving until I'm satisfied.

The fans come down what amounts to an assembly line, stopping at a table, enjoying their 30 seconds of attention and trading a ticket for an autograph. They move to the next table, and repeat.

I personally think that this "assembly line" method, while the only one that really works, has the potential to totally suck for the fans. 

The first one hundred or so who come through the line will get to see a smiling, effusive, friendly actor, and will leave feeling happy and satisfied. Those unlucky ones who are at the end of the line risk seeing actors who are tired, with cramped hands and degraded signatures. 

It is a challenge for me, but I always remind myself that the last fans through the line have paid as much as the first fans, and they've also waited much longer, so they are the ones that I need to give the most attention to when I am the most drained. I know that as I get toward the end of the line, my humor slows down, and my voice fades. I know that I've let down my fair share of people over the years, but I always do my best. 

I see the first fan walking down the hallway, trading tickets and getting signatures from actors. I watch her as she goes table to table. She's not wearing a spacesuit . . . that's a good sign. She has a witty sci-fi T-shirt on. Also a good sign. 

She arrives at my table, and I cheerfully say, "Hi! How are you doing today?!"

"AWFUL! THIS IS THE WORST CONVENTION I HAVE EVER BEEN TO! I HATE DAVE SCOTT! I HATE LAS VEGAS! I HATE THIS CONVENTION!"

Oh boy. This is not the way I'd hoped to start out.

I try to soothe her. "Uhh . . . I think . . . that . . . this convention . . . just started . . . and . . . uhh . . . I'm sure that if you talk to Dave, everyt–"

"DAVE SCOTT IS AN ARROGANT ASSHOLE!"

"Uh . . . yeah . . . well, you see, the thing is, I'm sort of not exactly involved in the planning of this convention, you know? I'm just, like, a guest . . . maybe you could try talk–"

"THIS IS THE MOST FAN-UNFRIENDLY CONVENTION I HAVE EVER BEEN TO!"

And she storms away, without an autograph, without another word.

I look at Marina, who's one table down from me. Angry Fan has stormed past her, too. Marina shrugs, and I make the international sign for "crazy person" by twirling my finger near my temple.

I hear a man clear his throat, and I look up to see a smiling middle-aged face. He has a dark beard, and is dressed as Commander Riker. 

He gives his autograph ticket to the staffer sitting next to me, and asks me to sign his model of the Enterprise D. He thanks me, and moves along.

And so it is in the world of Star Trek conventions. One person will scream at me, and the next will want to give me a hug. A person will walk up dressed in an elaborate Borg costume, and the next person will be dressed in a T-shirt and Dickies, quietly laughing at "all the weirdos."

For the next three hours, I sign pictures of the young, geeky Wesley Crusher. I sign posters of the teen heartthrob that I'm told I once was. I sign posters that I'm not even on, in silver because everyone else did, accepting the apologies from the poster owners that I'm not on the poster. I always answer with the same joke: "That's okay, you just can't see me, because I'm on this planet here . . ." They laugh and feel good and so do I.

A group of very attractive German girls comes over next, and two of them tell me, in broken English, how much they love me.

I think, Oh yeah, tell me some more, baby. Tell daddy how you love him. Ich bin ein sexmachiner!

What?

I am so sorry. I have no idea where that came from. I apologize.

There are also 20 Japanese kids who've all come over together from Tokyo. They are all smiles and laughter, excited, and having a great time. The girls ask me to write their names on their picture when I sign it, they giggle and bow and blush and thank me, over and over. For a second, I feel like a rock star. 

One of the Japanese kids is a boy, about my height. When he presents his Wesley Crusher action figure for my signature, he tells me, "My friend all say I am you twin!"

He smiles proudly. "We look just the same!"

Last time I checked, I wasn't Japanese, but I'm not about to tell him that. I look at him for a moment and reply, "Dude. You are so right. It's like I'm looking in a mirror!" 

He turns to his friends, says something in Japanese, and they all share an excited murmur. I pick up my pen, and write: "To Hiroyuki, my long lost twin brother: Don't Panic! -Wil Wheaton."

He thanks me over and over. His smile is so huge, I fear that his face will turn inside out. As he walks away from my table, I feel happy – I've brought joy into this kid's life, just by signing my name and being friendly. It's one of the few perks (or responsibilities, if you will) that comes with celebrity that I truly enjoy.

ϑ ϑ ϑ

 

About 200 or so people into the day, I have one of those memorable "battlefield" experiences; the kind that we Star Trek actors share during a layover in Chicago, after a convention in Cleveland.

I've just finished signing a poster for a 40-ish man who is wearing a spacesuit that is a little to tight across the waist. He's painted his face blue, and donned a white wig topped with antennae, like the Andorians from the original Star Trek. The next person in line is a woman in her 30s, dressed conservatively.

I say hello, and she smiles at me . . . until she sees my T-shirt. Then she becomes hysterical. She points at my shirt and screeches at me, "You are going to hay-ell! You are going to hay-ell!"

"Why am I going to hell, ma'am?" I ask, trying to figure out if she is joking. I am wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of a hand making rock-and-roll devil horns that says, "Keep Music Evil." I think it's very funny, and it's a nice counter-point to the squeaky-clean image of Wesley Crusher that is so indelibly burned into these people's minds.

"You're wearing that shirt! And that shirt promotes SATAN!"

Okay, she's definitely not joking.

"So I'm going to hell because I'm wearing a shirt? Is that right?" I ask her, patiently.

"Yes! You! Are! Going! To! HAY-ELL!"

"Well, as long as I'm not going where you are, ma'am."

And she leaves, but not without getting my signature, on her collectible plate, in gold ink, not silver, because John DeLancie signed his in silver, so now silver is the color reserved for "Q." Nobody else can sign in silver. Not even a captain. Well, maybe Captain Picard, but not Captain Janeway.

I am able to contain my giggles until she is out of ear-shot.

"Is it always like this?" the staffer sitting at my table inquires.

"Nope. Sometimes it's really weird."

We laugh, and the signing goes on.

And on.

And on.

This next part is from when I went on the stage later that same afternoon. It still makes me laugh.

"I have the limited edition Star Trek Monopoly game." I say.

"Of course, it's a limited edition of 65 million. But it's extremely valuable, because I got a number under 21 million."

They laugh. It's funny, because it's true.

I go one better. "Plus, it's got a certificate of authenticity signed by Captain Picard!

"Yes, that's right, my Star Trek Monopoly game, which I've rendered worthless by opening, comes with a certificate of authenticity signed in ink by a fictional character."

I see a guy in the front row say something to his buddy, and they both nod their heads and laugh.

"Cool thing about the game, though, is that there is a Wesley Crusher game piece in it, and the first time we sat down to play it as a family, Ryan grabbed Wesley and proclaimed, as only an 11-year-old can, 'I'm Wil!! I'm Wil!! Nolan!! I'm all-time Wil!! I call it!!'"

I see some people smile. I start to pace the stage. I'm hitting my stride, and the stories flow out of me.

"One time, when we were renegotiating our contracts, we were all asking for raises.

"We all felt a salary increase was appropriate, because The Next Generation was a hit. It was making gobs of money for Paramount," (I like that word – gobs) "and we felt that we should share in that bounty.

"Of course, Paramount felt otherwise, so a long and annoying negotiation process began.

"During that process, the producers' first counteroffer was that, in lieu of a raise, they would give my character a promotion, to lieutenant."

I pause, and look around. I wrinkle my brow, and gaze upward.

"What? Were they serious?"

A fan hollers, "Yeah! Lieutenant Crusher! Woo!" 

I smile back at him.

"My agent asked me what I wanted to do. I told him to call them back and remind them that Star Trek is just a television show."

Okay, that was risky to say. It's pretty much the opposite of just a television show to these people, but they giggle.

"I imagined this phone call to the bank," I mime a phone, and hold it to my ear. "Hi . . . Uh, I'm not going to be able to make my house payment this month, but don't worry! I am a lieutenant now." I pause, listening to the voice on the other end.

"Where? Oh, on the Starship Enterprise."

I pause.

"Enterprise D, yeah, the new one. Feel free to drop by Ten Forward for lunch someday. We'll put it on my officer's tab!"

Laughter, and applause. My time is up, and Dave Scott stands at the foot of the stage, politely letting me know that it's time for me to go.

The fans see this, and I pretend to not notice him.

"In 2001, startrek.com set up a poll to find out what fans thought the best Star Trek episode of all time was. The competition encompassed all the series. The nominated episode from Classic Trek was City On The Edge Of Forever. The entry for The Next Generation was Best of Both Worlds Part II. DS9 offered Trials and Tribble-ations, and Voyager weighed in with Scorpion II."

As I name each show, various groups of people applaud and whistle, erasing any doubt as to what their favorite show is.

"Now, look. I know that Star Trek is just a TV show. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure I just said that five minutes ago, but there was no way I was going to let my show lose. It just wasn't going to happen. Especially not to Voyager – er, V'ger, I mean."

I pause, and look out at the crowd. I wonder if Mr. "V'ger" is out there.

"So I went into my office, sat at my computer for 72 straight hours, and voted for TNG over and over again.

"I didn't eat, and I didn't sleep. I just sat there, stinky in my own filth, clicking and hitting F5, a Howard Hughes for The Next Generation.

"Some time around the 71st hour, my wife realized that she hadn't seen me in awhile and started knocking on the door to see what I was doing. 

"'Nothing! I'm, uh, working!' I shouted through the door. Click, Click, Click . . . 

'I don't believe you! Tell me what you've been doing at the computer for so long!'

"I didn't want her to know what I was doing – I mean, it was terribly embarrassing . . . I had been sitting there, in crusty pajamas, voting in the Star Trek poll for three days."

Some people make gagging noises, some people "eeww!" But it's all in good fun. They are really along for the ride, now. This is cool.

"She jiggled the handle, kicked at the bottom of the door, and it popped open!"

The audience gasps.

"I hurriedly shut down Mozilla, and spun around in my chair.

"'What have you been doing on this computer for three days, Wil?' she said."

I look out across the audience, and pause dramatically. I lower my voice and confidentially say, "I was not about to admit the embarrassing truth, so I quickly said, 'I've been downloading porn, honey! Gigabytes of porn!'"

I have to stop, because the ballroom rocks with laughter. It's a genuine applause break! 

"She was not amused. 'Tell me the truth,' she said.

"I sighed, and told her that I'd been stuffing the ballot box in an online Star Trek poll.

"'You are such a dork. I'd have been happier with the porn.'

"I brightened. 'Really?'

"'No,' she said. She set a plate of cold food on the desk and walked out, muttering something about nerds.

"I stayed in that office for another ten hours, just to be sure. When my eyes began to bleed, I finally walked away. It took several weeks of physical therapy before I could walk correctly again, but it was all worth it. Best of Both Worlds Part II won by a landslide."

I pause dramatically, and the theatre is silent.

"And it had nothing to do with my stuffing the box. It's because Next Generation FUCKING RULES!"

I throw my hand into the air, making the "devil horns" salute that adorns my satanic T-shirt, and the audience leaps to their feet, roaring with applause and laughter.

I can't believe it. I started out so badly, but I got the audience back on my side. I say thank you, give the microphone to Dave Scott, who is now sitting on the stage pointedly checking his watch, and exit, stage left.

 

ϑ ϑ ϑ

 

I'm a very different person now than I was when I wrote it, in every single way that matters (and a lot that probably don't). I cringe a little bit at some of the ways I wrote back then, but it's the best I could do at the time, and I'm proud of it, and the 29 year-old who struggled to write it.

Reading this stuff today made me feel strange, but also good, It's sort of like I was looking in a mirror that held a reflection within it for ten years, but let a little bit out today, just for me.

Regarding JoCoCrazy2 and my important questions...

Based on the responses I got to my very important question, it looks like I'll be performing something from Memories of the Future, maybe something from Memories of the Future Volume 2, something from Happiest Days, something from Dancing Barefoot. 

I am also canceling the Wil Wheaton Anti-Formal Not Formal Unformal For Formally Being Not Formal due to lack of interest. Also I have to get some fancy clothes for me and my family now. #firstworldproblems

So I broke down and made a Facebook thing...

I've resisted using Facebook for years, mostly because I have a huge problem with the privacy policies. I'm really happy using a combination of Twitter, Tumblr, and Google Plus to do all my social media public life stuff, and I don't really want to add something else.

But I've talked with friends who I trust and respect, people who create and produce awesome things for the Internet, and they have all told me that even if I don't like Facebook personally, having at least some kind of Facebook presence is an important part of our public lives, especially because there are thousands and thousands of people who get online and never really leave Facebook… so I asked Felicia Day to help me figure out Facebook, and with her help I think I made the privacy things work as best as I can, so I can have a Facebook… thing. Page. Whatever. Like This. Something.

I know that a PR person would tell me to "spin" this as something I think is totally awesome, and brand something and interact with synergy excitement Bieber, but the truth is: I feel weird and not entirely comfortable doing it. I feel like I'm compromising something I'd rather not compromise. But I'm there because I know that even though I'm not crazy about Facebook, a lot of people are, and it's silly to ignore all those people because I'm a cranky old man. Also, being on Facebook affords me some business opportunities that I wouldn't otherwise have, and being able to support my family is more important to me than shaking my fist at a windmill every day.

I told my wife, "I know that I'm an adult, because I made a compromise that made me uncomfortable, because it was in my family's best interest."

Then I said, "But it still feels weird."

So I have a Facebook thing, which I hope to turn into something cool, or at least interesting. If you care about that sort of thing, now you know about it.

Just so you know what to expect if you subscribe to it:

I have currently connected Twitter and Tumblr and occasionally my blog to the Facebook thing, so all my things are in one place. This means that there will occasionally be a huge flood of Twitter things or Tumblr things posting here automagically. Also, I say "thing" a lot. 

I'm happy with this, and I honestly like having one place on the Internet that holds all of my stupid things together. I realize, however, that not everyone shares this opinion, and if you're one of those people, you should probably unsubscribe; no big deal.

 A few other things you should probably know:

I'm opinionated.
I love hockey.
I'm a progressive populist.
I'm a secular humanist.
I have zero patience for people who are dicks, and I block pretty ruthlessly.
I love science.
I don't really censor myself. I swear a lot.
Occasionally, something will show up here from my Tumblr that's NSFW.
I'm probably going to disappoint you in some way.

I've been there about a week, and I don't completely hate it. I read as many comments there as I have time to read, and I'm not able to respond as often as I'd like.

However, love it when some silly or stupid thing I did sparks a conversation between people who have nothing in common other than reading whatever that thing is. Maybe some of you will become real life friends, and come to a w00tstock together, and then you'll be all, "Hey, we met because we both liked that thing, and now we're here together." Then we'll all high five, take a picture, and post it online.

Okay, that's all. If you still want to subscribe to it, I hope it's worth your time.

 

If I say that my somewhat extravagant imagination yielded simultaneous pictures of an octopus, a dragon, and a human caricature, I shall not be unfaithful to the spirit of the thing.

Since I started tabletop gaming mumblecough years ago, I've always found storytelling inspiration from the RPGs. From designing my character and developing his back story, to building a world and populating it with allies and adversaries, the games I've played have lived on in my imagination long after I've gotten up from the table and put the dice back in their bag. But it wasn't until recently that I heard Steve Jackson say "all games are role playing games, in their own way", and I realized that there's just as much inspiration to be found in tabletop boardgames as there is in tabletop RPGs.

I've been playing the hell out of the tabletop and iOS versions of the game Elder Sign. In addition to having a whole lot of fun trying (and frequently failing) to save the world from The Ancient Ones, it's inspired me to dive ever deeper into the world that HP Lovecraft created in the 1920s. I've been reading his stories, listening to their audio versions, and nudging my subconscious toward developing my own short story set in his world. Whenever my mind wanders these days, it veers dangerously close to the Mountains of Madness.

If you'd told me a few weeks ago that a boardgame that takes 45 minutes to play (and its iOS version that takes about 20 minutes to play) would capture my imagination and inspire me to try my hand at writing a Lovecraftian story, I would have thought you'd uncovered a Secret Man Was Not Meant To Know... but here we are.

This is one of the wonderful aspects of gaming, that I think gets overlooked: when we play games, we're using our imaginations to bring cardboard and plastic to life. If we're lucky, that spark can start a fire that burns long after the game has been put away.

By the way, if you're interested in Lovecraft, but don't know where to start, you may want to check out the incredible collection of Lovecraft's complete works that Cthulhuchick put together, and listen to the fantastic Stuff You Should Know episode about the Necronomicon. I can't recommend Neil Gaiman's I, Cthulhu enough. I also found this collection of Lovecraft audio works at archive.org that's pretty comprehensive and very well produced.

I have a very important question for everyone attending JoCo Cruise Crazy 2.

Saturday, I'm heading down to America's Wang to get on a boat, because JoCoCruseCrazy 2: Cruise Crazier is setting sail on Sunday.

I hope that it lives up to this video that one of the cruisers (who named themselves Sea Monkeys) created:

I know, right? Check out the video he made last year, based on the Superfriends.

I know, right!? RIGHT?!

We had a great time last year, and I'm lucky and grateful to be invited back for more shenanigans and mirth-making.

If you're going on the cruise, I have a very important question for you: I get to perform one night on the cruise, and I'm building my set list. I already have some stories picked out that I think you'll enjoy, but I'd really like to know from actual audience members what you'd like to hear from me. You can pick anything from any of my books or blog posts, so feel free to dig into the archives, if you have time and interest.

Also: There are two formal nights on this cruise, which means you have to take a tuxedo or a suit with you, taking up valuable luggage and cabin space, just so you can wear it two times. When you're on vacation. Seriously.

I am totally going to get all formal'd up for the Paul F. Tomkins Memorial Moustache Formal and Fextacular, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let a cruise line tell me that I have to dress up for their stupid fancy dinners. Indeed, I have taken a stand against fanciness, and on the formal nights, I will be hosting the Wil Wheaton Anti-Formal Not Formal Unformal For Formally Being Not Formal in the extremely fancy Lido Buffet. Come as you are, (but, seriously, at least wear a clean shirt) and we will dine like triumphant Viking warriors. In fact, I think it would be hilarious if we dressed very nicely, right up to the edge of formality, but just short of it, to make a precious little point that nobody will really care about except us.

Seriously, people: we're going to be on a boat in less than a week.

Internet (a love song)

So this is pretty rad:

 

Thanks to Felicia Day, who brought this to my attention

About the writing of the Fawkes issue of The Guild

I thought it may be interesting to some people to know a little bit more about how the Fawkes comic came together.

When we were up in Vancouver for Eureka, I was always bugging Felicia to come hang out with me and Neil Grayston, or to get out of our building and have an adventure. More often than not, she couldn't come play with us because she was writing scripts for The Guild comics. For the record, we had all the fun without her. So there, Felicia. Nyahhh.

At some point, we were having dinner or something and I asked her if she was interested in doing a Fawkes comic together. Because, you know, we didn't have way too much stuff to do already. She thought it would be a fun thing to do, and we started pitching stories to each other.

Eventually, we came upon something that we both thought was awesome, and we started writing it. It was surprisingly easy for us to come up with the story; the real challenge for me was keeping the story tight enough to fit into the pages we had. Luckily for me, I have a number of friends who are professional comic writers, and I was able to steal some of their writing tricks:

Keep things simple.
Format the script in what we call the Modified Brubaker, which is based on the Brubaker, which is based on the Ellis.
Have fun.
Do at least 4 pages a day when writing the first draft.
Read lots of comics and let them inspire you.

Oh, it also helps to have a co-writer who is a freaking genius and is also one of your best friends.

So the whole thing came together, and we ended up with a script that we both loved. We turned it in to our editor, got his notes, and did a final pass. I think the entire time from closing the deal with Dark Horse to giving our editor the final script was about 5 weeks.

The real fun for me was getting to ask for artists I love: I am crazy about Paul Duffield's work, especially on Freakangels. I loved Emma Rios's work on Osborn. Jamie McKelvie's work on Phonogram and Suburban Glamour belongs in a museum. Oh, he's also a good friend, which made it even cooler that we get to work together.

Paul said yes right away, but getting Emma was more difficult, because we couldn't find her. I asked my friend Kelly Sue (who wrote Osborn) to bug Emma on my behalf, and that whole thing came together pretty fast, too.

So I had two cover artists I was dying to work with, and an interior artist whose work I love so much I want to marry it. I don't know how it all managed to work out, but I'm going to guess that the stars were right and not ask too many questions. When we saw Paul's cover, we realized that we'd never seen Fawkes in game, so I think it's awesome that Paul got to design his avatar, and boy did Emma capture the sexual tension between Fawkes and Codex! I've seen some of Jamie's pages, and I don't know how he managed to get into my head and draw exactly what was there, but he's doing it perfectly.

I can't talk about the story too much, but I can say that I wanted to let Fawkes speak for himself, in his unique way, and see some things about his life that we didn't get to see on screen in The Guild. I'm incredibly proud of what Felicia and I came up with, and I think fans of The Guild are going to be really happy with what we did.

One of my super secret projects isn't a secret any longer...

FINALLY, I can talk about this, and because a picture is worth a thousand words...

Felicia Day and I wrote a Fawkes story for The Guild comic together. There are two covers, the one above is by Paul Duffield, and this one is by Emma Rios:

 

Jamie McKelvie is drawing the book, which comes out on May 23rd.

Here's how Dark Horse is describing it:

Felicia Day and The Guild are back, along with costar Wil Wheaton, for a brand-new story spotlighting Fawkes, the dashing, debonair, and douchey leader of the evil guild Axis of Anarchy! His relationship with Codex threatened to tear the Knights of Good apart until he was thrown off a balcony for his treatment of her. Set after season 4 of the show, this issue reveals how Fawkes deals with his split from Codex and navigates the aggressive personalities of the Axis, and follows his journey to his surprising state when he returns in season 5!

Felicia and I talked to io9 about it last week, so if you want to know a little bit more, head on over there and check it out.