I was an easy mark. Overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of stories, art, subject matter that filled my local Brooklyn comic store, and limited by a $5-per-week allowance, I had no idea where to enter the world of comic books. Even at a young age I was a story junkie. I loved Spider-Man, Batman, the Silver Surfer, and had a huge crush on Jubilee from the X-Men. I was interested in so many more… Wolverine, Sandman, Martha Washington Goes to War, Tank Girl, Ghost Rider, Doctor Strange, Gen 13, and the odd Video-Game Comics published by Valiant (Mario/Zelda). But mostly, I bought based on cover art and found myself frustrated by not understanding the ongoing storylines in each issue. There were too many plot threads to keep up with, too many cameos, or moments that editors pointed me to other issues for story continuity and context. I felt like I was picking up in a jumbled middle, and the local clerks were more derisive than helpful.
Then came 2099. With its shiny foil covers stamped with ISSUE#1, and no backstory, it felt like a way to jump on a new train and begin a new story. Little did I know at the time that #1 and Foil-Stamped were both marketing tactics to entice new readers. No plot baggage, shiny cover, BUY ME, MATTHEW! Again, an easy mark.
When I was 11, in 1992, Marvel launched a new imprint line of comic books called 2099. Set in a future where most super-heroes died, corporations ruled the world, and filled with a kitschy 90s-future-chic that was destined to age poorly, 2099 was my first real entry into comic books.
In this future, the classic age of heroes was over. All (or most) were dead, and had drifted into legend. The world of 2099 was corporate-controlled mega-cities, anarchy everywhere else. And then, heroes began to appear again. In 2099 Thor-worship was a major religion. Los Angeles was more ruined, but still filled with the same personality types I’d encounter in 2010 when I moved to California. Different looks, new twists on old archetypes, and all-new personalities inhabited the guises and monikers of old heroes. Some were new (Ravage). I loved the cyclical nature of such stories, how we can’t shake our pasts enough, how we look to the heroes of yore to guide us through the crises of now.
So I bought Spider-Man 2099 #1, Doom 2099 #1, Ravage 2099 #1, Punisher 2099 #1, and ghost Rider 2099 #1. Eventually, I had to winnow down to just colleting Spider-Man 2099 to save money. My parents were both teachers and my allowance stayed fixed as the storyline (all the 2099 series were interconnected thanks to brilliant editorial direction by Joey Cavalieri) bloomed.
Soon I began missing issues. I found other comics, ones my friends were actually reading.
Then Marvel released X-Men 2099, Hulk 2099, Fantastic Four 2099 to bolster sales. It didn’t work (X-Men was cool, though). 2099’s readership diminished.
Then I stopped, dropping comics for guitars and baseball and starting a punk band with my fellow Brooklyn knuckleheads.
Eventually titles were cancelled, Marvel fired Joey Cavalieri, and writers followed him out the door.
Titles were merged. Storylines condensed. By 1998, 2099 was gone, one year shy of the 100 year gap between fictional universe and present day.
2099 was an oddity, and one that gripped my imagination. I never let go. Whenever I talked comics with real comic book fans, I usually received pitying looks. Even in the realm of nerds, I was somehow a misfit oddball with questionable tastes. I mean, if it’s your brand, live it up.
Throughout the years, I would occasionally log onto Ebay and check out the 2099 offerings. In 2017, on a trip home to visit my sick father. I was excited at work, but depressed at home. At my job at Riot, I was going to help the comics team to create storylines around some characters I’d originated, and some that I’d get to re-interpret. Having not really touched comics in years, I dug out my old issues to, as Will Graham in Red Dragon puts it, “recover the old mindset”. I found my 2099s. They were hilariously dated, the 90s cyberpunk/blade runner vibes felt like watching Marty McFly visit 2015 in Back to the Future 2. An out-of-touch future that was a little cringe in how an older generation looked at the current generation and added what they thought was “fellow teenager edge”. I was in love all over again.
Again, at work, I was scoffed at for bringing up the 2099 line. It was looked down upon by the comics elite. Couldn’t anyone see what I saw? Reinterpretation of heroes in a near-apocalyptic futures that made us rethink what legacies meant? Amazing 90s-future art? Relevant story themes? Nope. Everyone just sort of dunked on Ravage.
The comics job at Riot fell apart in a mess of aspirations, personality conflicts, and creative direction confusion. Lots of stress, resentment, and work pressure arose.
Then COVID hit. My dad died. I moved traded my sunny Santa Monica apartment for the woods of Pennsylvania to care for my father’s house. Then my wife was diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. A month later, my job at Riot Games abruptly ended. Seven years of IP building and character creation gone in an instant. During breast cancer, during a global pandemic.
To help cope and keep my mind occupied, I Ebayed my way to a complete collection of Marvel 2099 comics. It wasn’t too expensive, until the Across the Spider-verse trailer came out and drove up all the Spider-Man prices (by then I was trying to find the rare back issues for under $15 an issue. One issue was 3 weeks of 1992 allowance! What!). I remain an easy mark.
And so, for Cannonball Read 14. I’m going to re-engage with my 14 year-old self, raise awareness and money for cancer research, and read all 271 issues of Marvel’s 2099 imprint in 2022 (only 77 years away!) I’m gonna write about each issue, post pictures and thoughts, and perform a deep dive into this most kitschy curio in Marvel’s catalogue. There will be nostalgia. I hope some of you will follow me on this journey.
