Chapter 361: The Bust of the Boom
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This is a work of fiction and a lot of unresearched topics so don't bash my trashy work too much.

Fanboy was now on the lookout. How could he not?

THE Alexander Creed was actually here. How could he not try to seek out one of the biggest mystery men out there?

Unfortunately, the whole venue was crowded with a lot of faces.

Eavesdropping or asking Creed representatives for the truth will probably get him nowhere.

Fanboy tried all that out... but all he got was moot.

As exciting as it was to know that his idol was here... it was torture to not be able to meet him.

He looked and the man just couldn't be found. He didn't even know what he looked like.

All was pointless if he didn't even know what to look for in the first place.

In this idol-seeking situation, Fanboy might as well be wearing his blinding Marshmello bucket.

His goal to bust Alexander Creed has become a bust in of itself.

How the hell does Marshmello even do music or any other thing in this kind of restrictive headwear anyways?

Fanboy questioned and questioned.


Too bad... only a few can answer that and one of them happens to be the elusive Alexander Creed himself.

More than anything, he was actually wearing his Marshmello costume as of current.

Keeping his identity extra secret by making use of another identity he assumed.

It helped with traversing the Comic-Con crowd as his costumed figure made him blend right in.

Then again, he was also sort of standing out.

"Nice costume, my guy."

"Cool get-up."

"Can you really see under that?"

These praises and second looks were directed his way. It wasn't exactly blending, was it?

Although the impeccable Marshmello helmet may have served as a covering shield, it would seem that it's also doubling as an attention-grabbing craftmanship.

Appreciative nerds were pretty much wondering how he could see in that kind of headgear and how he was able to make his bucket perfectly cylindrical. Escaping the pail shape that other Marshmello-costumers were cursed with.

Basically... authenticity.

That was the crux of Alexander's conundrum.

Fortunately, none of them seem to have traced it back to the possibility that he, himself, could very well be the real Marshmello.

Perhaps he should have strolled around without the costume. Maybe it could have saved him the hassle.

In any case, he'll make do with what he had.

Costume or no costume, none of that really mattered.

Then there's that award nonsense. Well... it's nonsense.

Alexander's interest in this year's Comic-Con was a different matter altogether.

It is some other thing.

Something that will dictate the flow of the comic book industry from here on out.

Technically, it's bad news.

However, Marshmello's plastered smirk is perhaps the accurate representation of Alexander's sensibilities regarding the situation.

After all, the boom had already happened. It was finally the much-awaited bust's time to shine.


Sure enough...

As bustling as it was for the Creed-themed areas, the same could not be said for the rest of the convention.

They are somewhat bustling but quite a lot of them were shrouded in confusion.

Unlike Creed's Comic-Con that are mostly about activities and entertainment extensions of comic books, the convention of others are purely about the printed craft.

With the market building up to incredible spikes...

The status quo revolving around investment-esque speculation...

And various publishers not knowing any better...

This year's Comic-Con should be where every bit of it was converging.

The result of this convergence is pretty much confusion in quite the proportions.

Whenever general comic trading practices happen, this confusion can't be any more pronounced.

"Hey, brother. I've got 10 copies of Geriatric Gerbils #1. It's going to be the next Ninja Turtles and probably going to be worth a lot like Action Comics #1. Want to buy one from me?"

"Erm... I've actually got 20 copies of the same issue. I was actually hoping that you'd buy one from me."


These two were just the start.

With Comic-Con being known as a hub for comic book aficionados... the place is pretty much a comic book hotspot.

Hence, the practice of trading, selling, swapping, and whatnot isn't that far-off. Making it the most optimal place for speculators that were hoping to make their returns.

However... how could they make their returns when the current situation being as it is.

"Hey... want a rare Deuce Doctor #5?"

"I actually have 2 of those already. What makes yours rare?"

"I-I dropped deuces while reading it."

"What the heck?!"

"That's gotta make mine one of a kind, right? Right?"

This Deuce Doctor guy was really desperate and his potential buyer could only scurry far away from him.

"Hello. Are you the guy that has 500 copies of the Teddy Ruxpin comic books?"

"Oh my god! Are you here to buy one from me?"

"No. I actually want to trade my scratched-up copy for one of yours. Would that be okay?"

"Go away."

"Come on. It's only one Teddy Ruxpin that's been messed up by my kid. You still have 499 others to work with."

"Get the hell away!" He's already depressed as it is. This callous trader was just rubbing salt in his wounds.

It wasn't just this guy that was feeling this way. Everyone else that had the same mentality as him was pretty much in the same affliction.

They had their make-more-money strategy but as it turns out, it wasn't just them that had that strategy.

At this point, their fellow strategists were confused. Where was the cents to thousand bucks turnover that they were hoping for?

They looked and looked and they couldn't find it.

If anything, what they found were just fellow suckers that brought comic books in bulk. Wandering around for a way out of their sucky misery.

It took a while but the realization finally dawned on them. This whole thing was actually getting them nowhere.

Without a doubt, this whole comic book endeavor was just a freaking bust!

Amid their panic, depression, and rage... there was a little Marshmello leisurely strolling around with an ever-plastered smirk.


It wasn't just the general speculators that were realizing the bad news of this turn of events... the publishers were as well.

Dark Horse with their Dark Horse Presents noticed the situation when a fellow actually approached them to return all the Dark Horse Presents purchase that he had.

Other returners followed suit from there.

What the hell?! They were actually still selling the same issue and hoping to sell more this Comic-Con. How come this was the situation they are met with?

If anything, they'd probably bring more units home than making any semblance of a sale.

It wasn't just them that were in the same predicament. All the other Creed wannabes with dark horse mentalities were also hit hard.

With the way things are going, they would probably be operating at a loss. Probably compounding into a bigger loss if the same trend happens outside of this convention.

Someone among them connected the dots and they were terrified.

Even DC. They were terrified that they tried correcting their blunder right then and there.

All their present and recognizable artists were pretty much called on to autograph away. That specialness should help with the problem.

The problem still followed through. Especially when these bulk buyers asked for all their purchased copies to be signed as well.

It was torture to their recognizable creators and made this solution moot.

Crisis on Infinite Earths. More like a crisis on the Earth they're at.

Not so far from all of this, a Marshmello was spectating all of it with those cheeky eyes.

Along with a plastered smirk, as if mocking them.


Last but not least to catch on to the situation was Marvel.

It had to be noted that for the first day of this Comic-Con, they were actually building momentum for their very first live-action film.

Howard the Duck and its August 1 premiere was coming close.

Unfortunately, this whole predicament just had to come crashing down on them.

Both Stan Lee and Jim Shooter, who were here for full-on Howard the Duck publicity, had stern expressions on their faces.

"How bad is it, Jim?"

"It's very bad. Very, very bad." Shooter can't expound on it enough. Especially with how this whole thing will most likely snowball to the wider market.

"What about Creed Comics?" Stan unknowingly asked out.

Then again, they remembered how Creed's steady stubbornness stood out. Which means they'd probably expected this already.

"At least, we now know why we reached the million-sale mark out of nowhere while they were content with what they had."

Stan and Shooter could only exchange glances and simultaneously shook their heads in dismay.

When they looked back unto the unfolding situation before them, that dismay only deepened.

As if on cue, a certain little fellow in all-white approached them with purpose. Bucket helmet, smiles, and all.

The duo didn't know what to make of it.

However, when that helmet was removed, revealing a smiling kid with a certain mature charm, they were shocked speechless.


"I don't know if you know me but my name is Alexander Creed."

"And in light of what you're just noticing now and what I think will unravel in the months to come."

"I'd like to make you an offer."

"An offer that you'll find quite hard to refuse."

Blunt, succinct, and straight to the point. Just as how he likes it.

On the flip side, Stan Lee and Jim Shooter exchanged glances once again.

Of course, they know who he is, all too well. However, is he some alternate Godfather, the Godkid?!


In any case, it was finally the boom of the bust.

For Alexander's next layout, it was quite important to establish first contact.

I find the events of this chapter to be rather exaggerated actually. But it gets the point across and I'm rather satisfied with it.

Anyways, that's that.