A
tale of endings and beginnings inspired by the works of (in no
particular order): Will Short, James Hickson, Russ Anderson, Steve
Crosby, Jae Lizhini, Mark Anderson, Mick Edwards, Chris Munn, Dino
Pollard, Derrick Ferguson, Patrick Moore, Tony Thornley, Brent Lambert,
Dan Ballard, Alex Hayden, Michael Franzoni, Steve Seinberg, Ed
Ainsworth, Kim Johnson, Scott Redmond, Matt Hrubey, Bertram Gibbs, Gary
Jones, Des Davies, Mike Exner III, Tom Lynch, David Golightly, Bill
Kte’pi, Robert Rock, John Rabon, Tim Burns, Mike McGee, Matt
Pierce, Mike Hintze, Mike Rasbury and many… many
more. Thank you all!
Bruce Wayne only vaguely watched as the Wayne Enterprises corporate jet
jockeyed for position, looming ever closer as it angled across the damp
tarmac, a blazing beacon of freedom glowing in the otherwise gloomy
night. Alfred- ever-faithful Alfred stood at his side as the Blue
Tooth crackled in his ear, holding an umbrella against the chill rain
and wind as the voice of Luscius Fox cut through the static…
“Roxxon Oil up 7.37 %, Bruce. Seems on the rise
again. I advise – “
“Whatever, Lucius,” Wayne said staring into the cold dark
gloom of the rainy January night. It was almost two A.M. and he
was more than ready to get underway. “It’s your
decision now. You have my faith and backing. Do
what’s right as you see fit.” Wayne shifted channels
in the Blue Tooth and heard a gruff, Russian voice quoting stock prices
as well. He sighed, turning slightly. “What’s
the hold up, Alfred?”
The staunch, elder man seemed to straighten and clear his throat.
“The weather I’m certain, Master Bruce,” he said with
just a hint of a British accent remaining in his voice.
“Though of course I am not privy to such things as meteorological
disruptions as are you. I am quite certain that the plane will go
when it is able.” There was a long, uncomfortable silence
as the plane rolled closer; Alfred dedicatedly holding the umbrella as
Bruce Wayne listened to voices in his ear.
“Are you certain this is the wise decision to make, Master
Bruce?” Alfred finally asked. Bruce Wayne glanced at his Major
Domo, then at his watch showing obvious annoyance at the delay.
“Mistress Cassandra – “
“Is more than ready to take on the role. She’ll be
the perfect Batman in my absence. She is more than ready to take
the next step.”
“But Master Dick… Master Timothy…”
“Dick made it very clear the direction he wants his life to
go. And Tim…” Bruce Wayne sighed. “Tim
was a mistake. I will not live through another Jason.
I’ve cut my ties, Alfred. Tim, Dick, Barbara, Betty…
Cassandra has a clear field without the baggage. After all the
hell I’ve been through these past months, both as Batman and with
the League, I need this trip abroad to find myself. I need to
reestablish Bruce Wayne in the world, and to see just where the Batman
fits into the grand scheme of things.”
“As you say, Master Bruce. You know best.”
Bruce Wayne stared at Alfred Pennyworth, knowing there was far more in
his comment than met the eye. A Japanese voice crackled in his
ear, distracting.
“Sell.” Bruce Wayne looked up as the stairwell was
jockeyed into position before the Wayne corporate jet. Overhead,
the open hatch glowed, beckoning…
“I’ll expect regular reports,” Wayne said stepping
onto the stairs. Overhead the blonde stewardess beamed, a wide,
ear-to-ear smile cracking her face. He paused, one foot on the
stairwell, hesitating.
“Have an enjoyable trip, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his
voice dripping with sarcasm. Bruce Wayne knew that his most
trusted friend thought little of his trip abroad, to escape and
regroup. But after all the conflict in the League, in his day to
day life, he had to get away. He respected Alfred like no other,
but he had to get away.
“Hold down the fort, Alfred,” he said as he climbed the
stairs, pausing in the doorway of the jet. He looked out, the
radiant lights of Gotham winking in the distance. Was he making the right
decision? “I’ll be in touch.”
Yes.
“See you in a year.”
And with that Bruce Wayne stepped into his corporate jet, settled into
the plush seat that awaited him as the door sealed shut behind him with
a definitive ‘Hiss’…
Blackgate Prison Metropolis February…
“This is an affront to my very being, Mercy!”
“I know, sir. But there’s nothing I can do.
Your legal department is investigating every possible angle, but so far
they’ve found nothing. I receive hourly updates. If
the judge would just set bail…”
“He won’t.”
Lex Luthor frowned, pacing to the rear of his cold, gray cell. He
felt disgusting dressed in the prison grays of a common criminal,
reduced to a number like any ordinary miscreant. It was far, far
beneath him.
His Honor, Thaddeus T. Brown had been residing at the initial
hearing. Bastard should have stepped down, but God knew who would
have been his replacement. LexCorp touched most everyone within
the borders of Metropolis, and beyond, Judge Brown included.
Unfortunately Thaddeus T. Brown was not one of those that Lex Luthor
kept in his pocket. Had he known…
Luthor sighed, brushing an imagined stain from his generic prison grays.
He hated this.
So demeaning… degrading…
To be shuffled in with the rabble! He looked up at the
ever-present eye of Big Brother and flipped the surveillance camera the
bird as he remembered that he had a phone in hand.
“Get me out of here, Mercy.” Luthor said holding the phone
before his face and glaring at the receiver. “This is beyond
endurance!”
“I know, Sir,” Mercy said, and she actually sounded
sincere. Luthor smirked. He would give her a raise if she
succeeded, and maybe even forget the information that kept her in
check. “I’m doing my best.”
“I don’t…”
Lex Luthor turned, feeling the heat as the outer wall of his cell began
to dissolve. He blinked as the old stone vanished and a sudden
cool wind wafted into his cell. He ignored the chill, staring
instead at the familiar red and blue garbed figure floating in the open
air beyond.
“Superman…”
The creature hovering beyond the confines of his cell simply
smiled. The alien looked different somehow, the symbol on his
chest…
“You tax me, Luthor,” the Kryptonian said hovering there
where the wall used to be. His steely blue eyes crackled,
shifting red. “You task me. Time to end this.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Luthor said stepping forward,
daring the Superman. “What is this? The Man of Steel,
stooping to levels of the basest villain? Come to kill me?
This is absurd!”
“You make me laugh, Luthor,” the alien said as his eyes
glowed white. Luthor screamed as he was enveloped within the
Kryptonian’s gaze, his body shimmering in the alien view,
vanishing…
Gone.
Champ de Mars Paris March…
J’onn J’onzz stared longingly at the recently restored
Eiffel Tower. It had been pulled down during the White Martian
invasion, just as so many monuments had been destroyed or defaced
around the world. Many would never be restored to their one time
grandeur, but the people and government of France had been determined
to repair and right the Tower, both as a symbol of hope and to bring
back respect to the City of Lights and the country as a whole.
The rest of the city however could not be restored so quickly it
appeared. J’onn swept his dark gaze about the streets that
surrounded the Camp de Mars, eyeing with regret the piles of rubble
that had once been proud, elegant buildings, knowing that many still
were tombs to the dead buried within. The clearing away was a
slow process, and true rebuilding could not even begin until that
happened. And the mourning would continue throughout, as more
bodies were uncovered every day.
But Paris and France like so many cities and countries around the world
had come together, the people working to rebuild. The homeless
were housed, the orphaned taken in, the injured cared for in ways that
he had never seen since he first arrived on Earth decades before.
The world was almost totally at peace.
Almost, but the cost had been terrible. And all his fault…
If not for him, the White Martians would never have returned in the
first place, years ago. They would have remained in space,
conquering worlds unknown; ignorant that one Green Martian yet
lived. But they had learned and returned both for revenge and to
reconquer the world they once ruled. Of course the League had
beaten them back, twice now. And this time the world had suffered.
Perhaps it was time…
“I know that look.”
J’onn J’onzz turned, almost startled by the familiar
voice. Since the war he had had to dampen his psychic abilities
against the eternal misery that swelled the world over. Rarely
now, and only when necessary did he open his mind to the overwhelming
anguish that still radiated through the Psychic Plane. Even so,
he knew no peace and it left him vulnerable.
This time, luckily the voice did not herald a threat. A thin
smile appeared briefly as he saw Wonder Woman land lightly just a few
feet away and approach. Diana, former Queen of Themyscira and
ruler of the Amazons looked the same as he recalled; forever beautiful
and dressed in the familiar red, white and blue garb of her traditional
uniform, golden tiara at her brow and lasso at her hip. The only
change was perhaps a tired look in her eyes and the smudges on her fair
skin. Since being exiled from the United States and leaving the
League she had taken up residence in Paris and had been instrumental in
defeating the White Martians that had attacked here and the subsequent
rebuilding.
“Diana,” J’onzz said as she took his hand and leaned
in for a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for agreeing
to see me. I know you are busy.”
Diana sighed, looking around the rubble-strewn streets.
“There’s still so much to do, but I always have time for an
old friend.” She smiled thinly. “So,
what’s on your mind?”
It was the Martian Manhunter’s turn to sigh. “The
core of the League has disbanded… again. At least for a
time. Most of the world still lies in ruin, and we all agreed
that it was more necessary to help with the rebuilding just as you and
the other heroes in France have been doing. Even many known
villains have put aside their personal grievances and vendettas,
surprisingly. Many but not all.
“It is those that wish to take advantage of the world’s
disorder that concerns us. We are of course stretched thin in the
aftermath of the White Martian’s assault, but I have been
contacting others over the past few months hoping to unite us again and
keep us all vigilant."
“You’re putting together another League?” Diana asked
eyeing him dubiously.
J’onn frowned remembering the last time he had tried to hold the
League together and the disaster that had been culminating in the death
of Ralph Dibny. “No,” he replied softly.
“At least not in the traditional sense. No I am simply
asking past members and associates to man the old Justice League
International embassies around the globe. Those that remain
intact at least. To remain in contact and keep the world’s
hero community together as a whole.
“I have contacted the other teams that are still operating of
course; the Titans, the JSA, Young Justice, even the Global Guardians
and all have agreed in their own way and in principal. They all
have their own affairs and agendas, their own cities to aid in recovery
but they will remain vigil. I’ve since been seeking out
individuals and restoring power to embassies that had been shut down,
updating the computers and the teleporters.
“Oracle is acting as the center of the operation, through her
already established network. Oberon is coordinating things in New
York. Sue Dibny in the Midwest along with Joan Garrick and other
willing family members. Booster and Ted are set up in Chicago
already, and even Hawkman is helping, updating technology and
restructuring the teleporter in Midway City as the central transport
hub.”
“I thought Katar had sworn off the League for good,” Diana
said as she scanned the area noting that a crowd was gathering,
watching. J’onzz knew that despite the good that the League
had done in the past and the recent defeat of the Martians by the
world’s hero community uniting, many people had become nervous,
even distrustful of Metas since the war. In the minds of many
there was always the idea that if there were no heroes then there would
be no villains. If only that could be true.
“He has,” J’onzz continued, “but acknowledges
the need of a unified hero community. He has agreed to work with
us on a temporary basis, until everything is up and running.”
“So, I’m assuming you want me to man the Paris Embassy for
the interim?” Wonder Woman asked.
“I had hoped,” J’onzz said. “Yourself,
and perhaps Constance as well if she is willing. I know her time
with the League ended badly, but-“
“I’ll ask her J’onn. No worries.
I’m sure she’ll be willing to help when she can.”
“Thank you, Diana.” The Martian Manhunter turned his
gaze on the gathering crowd again. He could hear the low murmurs,
the grumblings and he could see the looks of fear on some faces,
distrust on others amidst the simply curious. He sighed.
“Perhaps we should leave. We can go to the embassy and get
it in working order before I move on.”
“Agreed,” Diana said as she rose into the air arching away
towards the embassy.
The Martian Manhunter took a final longing gaze at the Eiffel Tower,
then floated up to follow.
Beyond the orbit
of Pluto War World 3011 AD April…
“You sure this will work, Brainy?”
Rokk Krin stared at his old friend, watching as Querl Dox worked at
adjusting the adaptations that he had added to the Phantom Zone
Projector. He understood basically what Brainiac 5 had explained;
though as usual the exact and fine details of the process eluded him.
“Life itself is an uncertainty, Cosmic Boy,” Querl Dox said
as he stood setting his spanner aside. Rokk watched as the Coluan
wiped away the sweat beading his green-hued brow on the back of his
sleeve. It was not hot or humid, War World’s environmental
controls kept the surface at a constant 78 º Fahrenheit. Was
Brainiac 5 nervous? “But I am 98.3 % certain, yes.
All of course depending upon your abilities and Gear’s
cooperation.”
Both men looked then at their former teammate and a sadness filled Rokk
Krin. Gear stood silently, his white, vacant eyes staring up at
the inky blackness at the edge of the solar system. He knew that
Gear’s Techno-organic make-up could sense the approaching Blight,
the masses of the race invading the galaxy and en route to Earth, which
was already under their control. His body twitched occasionally-
Computo fighting to regain control of the body Brainiac had said- but
his hands remained morphed and imbedded within the projector he held
thanks to Saturn Girl, the Supreme comfort her soul.
So many dead. Gim… Quislet… Tellus… So
many…
“As soon as Valor, Ultra Boy and Wildfire return from positioning
the relay satellites we can begin.”
Cosmic Boy blinked as Brainiac 5 stirred him from his reveries.
He stood calmly as his friend attached the electrodes that would allow
him to better link with Gear’s unique physiology and in turn
focus his powers to single out the Blight. Once activated, his
powers of super magnetism would interact with Gear, using him as a
template to filter out the Blight and those under their dominion.
The satellite relays would then enhance the projector’s power
into a latticework that would envelope the encroaching armada and send
them all into the Phantom Zone. In theory, but if it worked here
they could turn their attention to Earth.
A streak of violet and suddenly Lar Gand stood amongst them.
“Done,” he said coldly in the dark voice that he had
adapted since the death of Shadow Lass.
“Me too,” Wildfire said as he floated down, atomic energy
boiling from the folds of his boots. “Piece of Plutonian
Ice Cake.”
“Then as soon as Jo Nah returns we can-“
Brainiac 5’s words were cut short as Ultra Boy suddenly appeared
as though teleported, his Ultra Speed sending him smashing into
Valor. The two tumbled away but not before Cosmic Boy saw the
glint of mechanics attached to the Rimborian. “He’s
infected!” he shouted even as Wildfire took to the air in a blast
of flame.
“On it!” he yelled even as he streaked off towards the
battling pair of Legionnaires. Rokk Krin moved to rip the
electrodes away, wanting to help but felt Brainiac’s hand on his
arm.
“Leave them,” he said sternly. “We need to stop
this. Get in place”
Rokk gave a final glance at his friends then nodded. He stepped
up to the projector and grabbed the nodes in his fists, letting his
power flow into the ancient Kryptonian device. He could feel Gear
within, the metallics of his body and essence threading throughout the
alien technology of the machine. He focused, gathering that
essence, joining it…
“Ready,” he said, watching as Brainiac 5 powered up the
device and adjusted the settings.
“Then brace yourself.”
Rokk Krin screamed as he felt the power well within him, threatening to
burst him asunder. Through teary eyes he could see Gear bucking
and jerking, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.
Computo’s voice shrieked even as a beam of hot white light lashed
out from the eye of the projector.
Cosmic Boy watched as the wide beam spread flickering to become a web
that swept through the star-spangled black, widening more and more as
the beam bounced between the relay satellites. Soon the garish
glow encompassed all, roiling outwards like a tsunami threatening to
engulf all in its path; hopefully the Blight.
“It worked.”
Cosmic Boy glanced at Brainiac 5 who was tapping his tricorder with a
stylus. His brow was furrowed with concentration and his eyes
darted as he visually scrolled the tiny screen, calculating.
“The Blight has been transferred to the Phantom Zone.
That’s odd…”
“What?” Cosmic Boy said glancing at the trio of battling
Legionnaires. Valor and Wildfire had Ultra Boy on the ground; the
gun-like appendage that had been attached to his arm a melted slag.
“There’s a power surge in the Zone,” Brainiac said as
he looked skyward. "Something seeping out…
Frak!”
Cosmic Boy looked up even as the hot white light enveloped them all,
and the universe went away…
Chicago, Illinois 1066 West Addison May…
Eel O’Brien leaned on the window of the hospital nursery and
leered over at his son…
His son! Brian
O’Brien; a bouncing- literally- bubbly baby boy in otherwise
perfect health. He was beaming with pride.
His head was morphed, a huge white smile splitting the big red Cheshire
Cat face he wore as he stared at his son, so pink and cuddly. He
wanted to morph into a bassinet and cuddle his bundle of joy forever.
“He’s beautiful.”
Eel barely registered Sue Dibny’s words as his face twisted and
reformed, wanting to get a reaction from his son.
His son…
He dipped an elongated hand into the breast pocket of his suit and
produced a cigar, which he offered to Sue. His arm stretched the
extra three feet to waggle it before her face.
“I have three already, thanks,” Sue said as she tapped on
the glass. One of the other babies started to wail, but not his
Brian. Brian gurgled and yawned.
Eel felt a slight pang of guilt as he stared at his newborn son.
J’onn had come calling recently, wanting him to help out in the
Embassy with the League, but screw that. He had helped out the
city when that White Martian had come calling, wanting to pull down the
Sears Tower. Not in my town, bitch.
He’d beaten the alien. True he had been a red puddle on the
sidewalk in the end, but he had won.
And then and there, after that crisis was averted, Eel O’Brien
had retired. Plastic-Man, the Pliable Paladin was done. And
oddly, he did not miss it a lick.
Penny was good, recovering after childbirth.
Luke, his other son was itching to take up the mantle. Hell, let
him.
Soon as they could, Eel O’Brien and Penny Powers would be married
and Brian O’Brien would be legit.
His son…
Plas snaked his fingers into his pocket and plucked a cigar free,
stretching it to Sue Dibny.
“I’m a father,” he said retracting his arm.
“I know,” Sue Dibny said.
“Congratulations…”
Plas did not get the sarcasm as he pressed his face to the glass and
morphed his head into a huge red Pikachu, grinning like an idiot…
Hollywood,
California Universal Studios June…
Roger Clodstenn slid the manuscript across the cluttered desk and then
settled back into the overstuffed leather chair awaiting a response
from Jason Carter, the first rung on the long ladder that led to the
upper levels of Hollywood’s movie making machine. Jason
glanced his way as he babbled into his Bluetooth, giving Roger a
thumb’s up as he tapped the thick sheaf of papers.
It was a bit like ‘whoring’ he suspected. He thought
that was the proper slang; writing out the adventures of the Martian
Manhunter in the JLA for personal gain. The Clodstenn persona was
a vain and rather eclectic one, but crucial to his Earthen guise.
Clodstenn could open doors that none of his other personae could.
“So…” Carter said as he closed the signal on his
call and scooped up the thick manuscript, “the latest Clodstenn
masterpiece?”
J’onn J’onzz smiled. “Don’t know that I
would call it a masterpiece, but definitely moves the story
along.” He flicked Roger Clodstenn’s long, bleached
hair from his eyes and recrossed his legs. “I tie up all
the loose ends from the last picture. Victoria meets the untimely
demise she so richly deserves as does Santry and his Lab.”
“Too bad,” Carter said as he thumbed through the
manuscript. “The Lab had a lot of potential for
sequels.” Carter shrugged. I’ll give it a read
over the weekend and let you know, say Tuesday?”
J’onzz was about to respond when Carter’s cell chirped
again. The younger man glanced at his phone then fired up his
Bluetooth again. “Sorry. Gotta take this…
Marlo! How good to hear your voice…”
J’onn J’onzz sat for a moment then, realizing that he had
been dismissed, rose and left the lavish office. Once outside he
paused and lit a cigarette, allowing others to make a
‘Roger’ sighting. Within a few hours it would be all
over the Internet: Roger Clodstenn had a new epic in the works.
After the screenplay was finished, somewhere in the midst of shooting,
Roger Clodstenn would have to die of course. Some months away,
but it was a necessity none the less. It was time to move on and
J‘onn J’onzz hated to leave loose ends…
Metropolis The Daily Planet
Building July…
With a grunt of effort Kal-El set the huge, golden globe back into its
moorings atop the Daily Planet Building. Floating back and a few
well-aimed bursts of Heat Vision and the dazzling icon was once again
in place.
“Go ahead,” he said into the compact microphone angling
just away from his lips. A moment later he heard the response and
the gears and motors ground back to life, the globe lurching slightly
as it slowly started to spin once again. It would make one total
rotation in the span of twenty-four and a quarter hours, matching pace
with the Earth, though on a smaller scale.
Kal-El afforded himself a small smile as he floated back to the
rooftop, wiping away sweat from his brow. He was tired, no doubt
about it, but he did not have time to rest; not yet. There was
still so much to do.
He stared out at his adopted city. Metropolis seemed to glow with
a golden hue in the scarlet rays of the setting sun. Most of the
towers and minarets had been restored after the White Martians had
ravaged the city, all save the dominating LexCorp Tower, which had been
deemed off-limits by the authorities. Still, with a squint of
Telescopic Vision, Kal-El could see Luthor’s minions working
feverishly, fixing the building’s integrity, replacing shattered
windows, rebuilding.
It was the lesser neighborhoods that were still needing. Suicide
Slum had not suffered greatly, but fires and demolition had left
hundreds homeless. Crimebuster and the Guardian were doing what
they could to rally the restoration, but it was hard work. Steel
and his daughter were ever present too, and the people were pulling
together, but it was still a long row to hoe, as ‘Pa’ would
say.
“Penny for ‘em.”
Kal-El smiled to hear the all too familiar voice. He turned and
saw the woman he loved standing near the stairwell and looking up at
the globe, her beautiful face reflected and warped in the shining
golden metal. “Not really worth a whole penny,” he
said, stepping towards her. “Perhaps a ha-penny will
do?”
“Don’t try to be cute, Smallville,” Lois Lane-Kent
said in a hushed tone. She glanced about and he could see the
desire in her eyes as she eased forward, then hesitated. With a
sigh she gestured at the globe.
“So, how many times have you put this thing back into
place?”
“I’ve lost count,” he said, musing. In fact he
had replaced the Daily Planet Globe eight times since he had come out
as Superman. “Might be a good sidebar though.”
“Right,” Lois said as she took a seat on the
building’s parapet, crossing her legs. “Maybe a
couple paragraphs in the Sunday Edition or a question in the
Crossword.”
“How’re things down in the trenches?” he asked,
taking a seat beside his wife. He wanted to take her in his arms
but knew that he could not. There was still so much to do, let
alone the field day the Tabloids would have if they were being watched:
Clark
Kent: Cuckold!
He could see the Headlines now…
“Good as can be expected. Perry’s ready to blow a
gasket and ‘Mister Action’ is ready to go undercover in the
Slums to find out why they’re being ignored. And of course
everybody is still speculating on Luthor’s
‘death’.”
Kal-El sighed, shaking his head. It had taken months to clear his
name on that fiasco- luckily he had been on League business, which was
easily verified- and he still had no idea who might have been
impersonating him on the assault on Blackgate that had led to the
alleged death of Lex Luthor. Somehow he knew that Luthor was
still alive, but he had yet to find his nemesis.
“Got an e-mail from Bruce, too,” Lois continued.
“Seems he found the last piece of pseudo Kryptonite in a castle
in Romania. Didn’t give any details but said not to
worry. ‘Secured and complete’ were the words he
used.”
That was good news at least, and Kal-El was glad that that was over
with. The Batman’s fabricated Kryptonite had been scattered
across the globe and they had teamed up to try to find the potentially,
deadly substance in all its forms. Knowing that random death or
degeneration had been averted was a load off of his mind.
“That’s good news,” Kal-El said, relieved.
“So… will you be home for dinner?”
“That depends on you, I think,” Lois said with a sly smile,
kicking her leg and dangling her high-heeled black leather pump.
“I’ll be there if you will.”
“Then I’ll be there,” she said, standing and tugging
her suit into smooth place. “Figure on Take-Out
though. Damned if I’ll be cooking.”
“Chinese will be fine,” Kal-El said standing as well.
He cast a quick glance about the area with his Telescopic Vision.
“I don’t imagine I’ll be eating much.” He
grinned. “Food at least.”
“Be still my heart,” Lois said with a grin as she headed
for the stairwell. “I’ll see you tonight then.
Seven?”
“Probably,” Kal replied. “Sooner if I can get
away.”
“Yeah, I know what that means. Wake me when you get home,
stud.” Lois smirked and disappeared into the
stairwell. Kal-El watched her as she descended into the building,
then sighed, sagging.
There was still so much to do…
Space… The Final Frontier. August…
Prince Gavyn stared down at the battered and beaten form of
Mongal. Her arms were drawn back in the security bracers,
attached by heavy Neutronium chain to equally thick bracers affixed to
her ankles. She thrashed and struggled in her bonds, mewling into
her gag as she looked up at him staring daggers that would slay him on
the spot were they real.
“Mongal…” he said stepping about the captive.
He thought briefly of those who had died in the assault on War
World. Hundreds easily, if not thousands. Gavyn glanced at
Lar Gand clearing his throat. “You have been found guilty,
and as per the ancient edicts, you shall be executed for your heinous
crimes.” Gavyn saw Lar Gand frown…
“This is not right,” the Daxamite said. He stared at
Mongal, then turned his disapproving gaze on Gavyn.
“Despite all the things she and her brother have done, she
deserves better than this. A simple execution?”
“You’re right,” Prince Gavyn relied motioning for the
executioner to step forward. "But despite all that she deserves,
this is all the time we can afford.”
Lar Gand scowled, huffing as the masked executioner stepped
forward. Prince Gavyn ignored him, or tried to. Mongal
deserved far worse than the simple execution planned, despite what time
might allow. For the degradations and atrocities perpetuated by
she and her brother, the heir of Mongol, she deserved far worse than a
quick, easy death. Gavyn reached down and ripped off her gag.
“Do your worst, Throneworlder,” she spat looking up and
staring daggers at the two of them. “Slay me now and you
will only make me stronger.”
“I’ve seen Star Wars, bitch,” Gavyn said raising his
Star Staff over head. He could feel its heat rising as he stared
down at the daughter of one of the universes’ greatest
despots. He had to remain strong…
“For the good of the universe…”
Something like lightning flashed forth from the icon atop his Star
Staff. Gavyn heard Mongal’s scream as the power of the
stars washed over her enveloping her form until it finally wavered and
started to fade away. In moments she was gone.
“And you’re happy now, I assume?” Lar Gand said as he
stared at the residue left in the female’s wake.
“Happiness was denied me ages ago,” Prince Gavyn said,
“But I am content. One more threat to the universe has been
eliminated.” Gavyn leaned away as he looked into the
Daxamite’s steely gaze. He felt only the slightest relief
as Lar Gand nodded.
“The means justifies the end…” he said, “at
least in this case. Our alliance is over, Starman,” Lar
Gand said as he rose into the air his blue cloak flapping in the
winds. “I suggest you do not cross my path again.”
Prince Gavyn stared longingly at the violet star that flared and then
winked out of existence in the black firmament of space. He
sighed, then turned on the balcony, raising his staff high to the
adulation of the masses…
Blüdhaven The Docks September…
A chill ran through Dick Grayson as he scanned the dark, churning
waters of Blüdhaven Harbor. A cold, wind-swept rain lashed
at the docks and made the old, mildewed wood treacherous. He was
soaked to the bone and shivering, wanting nothing more than to go home
to warmth and sleep- it seemed days since he had last seen his bed- but
knew that he could not leave. He had to be sure.
“Nothing.” He heard Betty Kane’s voice over the
driving howl of the wind, her own teeth chattering as she
approached. She looked as drenched as he felt, her long blonde
hair plastered to her face, her red cloak wrapped about her shedding
water. He remembered the chill of having his legs exposed to the
elements as well.
Nightwing sighed, nodding that he agreed. They had been searching
the wharf for hours looking for any sign that Blockbuster had survived,
but if he had managed to climb free of the raging waters they had
missed it. Still, Desmond was resilient despite his bad heart and
always seemed to keep coming back for more.
Grayson winced as pain shot through his shoulder. His left arm
hung limp at his side, his shoulder dislocated from a crushing
blow. He was damn lucky it was not broken due to
Blockbuster’s strength, and but for his own skill it would have
been. “We’ll just wait for Huntress,” he said,
turning back to the harbor, “then we’ll just have to hope
that Desmond’s gone for good.”
Hopefully that’s the case, Dick Grayson thought as he scanned the
bay again. Roland Desmond had been a major player in
Blüdhaven’s underworld and politics, though just one of
many. Still, with him gone, even for awhile, Nightwing could
concentrate on other elements of the city’s deeply rooted
corruption. From the new temporary mayor down through the police
force and into the warring factions of the Mafia there was still so
much to do. He still had no idea who had killed Soames. The
mayor’s decapitation reeked of an assassin, though one with a
sword he had yet to meet. The Crime Prevention Task Force and the
Anti-Vigilantism Act made the job even harder, though he had often been
on the wrong side of the law both in the Haven and Gotham. Still,
inadvertently and together they were whittling slowly away at the gangs
and mobsters that had been running the streets of late; depleting the
sheer numbers. Add to that Cisco Blaine and his DNA sample and
blackmail attempt. Katana had helped take care of that, but the
seed had been planted that Dick Grayson was Nightwing and that he in
turn was connected to Bruce Wayne and the Batman. Grayson knew
that Blaine would not give up easily.
“We thought he was done when he was shot,” Flamebird said
stepping close. “I mean, Jesus, he survived a string of
bullets in the chest. His heart and lungs were Swiss
cheese.”
“Batman explained to me years ago that the formula that created
the original Blockbuster made them hard to injure, let alone
kill. They heal quickly. And from what I’ve gathered,
Desmond’s heart is… unique.”
Both turned at the sound of the Huntress’ motorcycle
approaching. Grayson saw that she had removed her cloak for
riding in the wind, and even so she came to a skidding halt a few yards
away, barely maintaining control. Nightwing had sent her along
West Bay Road following the flow of the tide while he and Flamebird
checked the other direction alternating the piers. By the look on
Helena Bertinelli’s face after removing her helmet he could see
that she had no luck either.
“If he survived, he escaped,” she said shouting over the
distance and wind as they approached. “I heard from Black
Lightning though. He and Katana managed to take out another
faction of the Steel Serpents before the police arrived; all
arrested. Those that survived at any rate.”
Grayson sighed. He did not condone the killing, but with the city
in turmoil he knew better than to argue. It was getting to the
point of kill or be killed, as he had found out tonight with
Blockbuster. But for a well-placed crossbow bolt Desmond would
have broken his neck rather than just dislocating his shoulder.
“The streets are emptying out too, Lightning said,”
Huntress added. Between the storm and the time only idiots like
us are out.” Nightwing saw Huntress smirk and nodded.
“All right. Let’s call it a night.”
“Thank God,” Flamebird said with relief. “I
don’t think I’ll ever be warm or dry again.”
“You’ll live, little girl,” Huntress said with a
sneer donning her helmet again. She throttled her idling cycle
back to roaring life. “Need a lift, Wingster?”
Grayson noted that she did not offer Betty a ride. He shook his
head.
“The Nightbird’s not so far away. We’ll be
fine.”
“Suit yourself,” Huntress said, giving a final cold look at
Flamebird before spinning the bike and speeding off into the dark
streets.
“Bitch,” Betty cursed and at times Nightwing had to agree.
“Let’s go home…”
Elsewhere Cynosure October…
Finally, the weary traveler thought as he passed through the ancient
gates of the cesspool that sat on the edge of infinity. It had
taken him months to reach the city, following the lost paths that
twisted through the Multiverse led solely by instinct and the dull tug
of eld magic.
“Magic,” he muttered as he moved along with the throng
towards the inner city. The streets were always crowded, at least
they had been the two occasions he had visited prior; a melting pot of
dimensional characters that had somehow strayed beyond their own
borders to end up in Cynosure. He saw Neanderthals walking
alongside starship stormtroopers, gun-toting Nazis haggling with
axe-wielding Barbarians at rag tag stalls set up along the street,
alien hawkers from a thousand worlds selling there wares.
He ignored them as he ignored the smells and stench, the smoke-clotted
skies and the constant din of noise. In truth he hated the city
and the press of its population, but this visit was necessary it seemed
and could not be helped.
He had no idea why he had appeared upon the Hidden Ways so far from his
goal. The spell that he had cast should have transported him
directly here, even in the same room with that which he
envisioned. It had not, however. Perhaps it had been the
turmoil of the White Martians seeking vengeance against him that had
disrupted his concentration. More likely though it had been the
battle raging between the two universes; between Krona and the
Spectre. The ‘God’ given abilities of the Spirit of
Vengeance had always wrecked havoc with his own, and only the Creator
knew what powers Krona had at hand. Both far outstripped his own
enhanced sorceress abilities.
Far worse had been the fact that his powers seemed to have abandoned
him. When he had appeared at the Crossroads bewildered and weak
he had immediately known that something was wrong. Even through
his journey out of Hell his powers had remained, though useless
there. This was different. Disturbing and inconvenient to
say the least, but there had been little to do for it but start walking.
And now, months later- though Time was a relative thing along the Ways-
he finally stood at the threshold of Munden’s Bar and hopefully
salvation. Bar of course was perhaps too flattering a word to use
the traveler mused as he peered through the filth-stained
windows. Inside he saw the same mishmash of characters from a
dozen dimensions drowning their sorrows on whatever swill was on tap or
tankard. It was smoky and dark within, dirty, raucous and a den
of debauchery. It fit right in with the city’s
décor, at least here in the Pit, one of Cynosure’s vilest
slums. Girding his courage, the traveler shoved through the
weathered door…
As with his last visit, his senses reeled upon entering. His mind
flashed to the Cantina of Star Wars fame as he slowly and cautiously
threaded his way through the perpetually inebriated crowd. He
felt the glowing amber eyes of an onyx-skinned bouncer following him,
shady glances from patrons eyeing him as he passed. He knew he
looked ragged and worn; the months on the road had not been kind to his
tuxedo and many no doubt yearned for his jewel-tipped cane. He
tried not to touch anyone or disturb anything as he made for the back
of the tavern, knowing that tempers were always on the razor’s
edge in the Pit. Crime was rampant, and an old-time barroom brawl
was always a hasty word away.
“Zard.”
William Zard turned at the sound of the gravelly voice speaking his
name. He peered through the dim, smoky air and saw the man that
he sought sitting at a table set against the far wall, he facing the
doors. The man was dressed as he had been when last they met; the
royal blue cloak and beret of some form of Cynosure security
force. A huge, alien gun sat upon the battered oaken table before
him alongside a tall mug of what could have been beer. The
man’s weathered face was grim, an old scar blazing red in the
queer lighting of the tavern. Zard forced a tight smile and
approached, noting that the bar’s proprietor was not alone; a
slim shouldered man dressed in a dull green cloak and hood hunched in
the chair opposite.
“John Gaunt,” the Wizard said as he stood at the
table’s edge. He wanted to sit but knew better.
Proper decorum was always a must in Cynosure and he had to wait for the
invitation.
“Heard you were lookin’ for me, Wizard,” Gaunt said
after taking a long draught of his ale. He then deftly plucked
the butt of a smoldering cigar from a metal ash tray with his
thick-gloved fingers and placed it to lip, sucking it back to life then
rolling the stub into a comfortable niche between his teeth.
“You heard…” Zard said in confusion. He had
spoken to few on his long trek, then only to ask for food, room and
board, and occasionally directions. How…
Zard watched as the man reached into his cloak and produced a blue
jewel, which he set upon the table. It sparkled brilliantly,
seemingly crackling with internal fire. It was the sister of the
jewel imbedded on the cap of his own cane; one of the ‘Luck
Stones of Bel’.
With the pair, Zard had become more powerful than ever before. He
had tricked his old associate, Felix Faust into the red gem, allowing
Zard to steal the sorcerer’s arcane powers for his own, adding to
his magicks of hypnosis and sleight of hand, enhancing all a
thousandfold. He had placed the blue gem in the hands of John
Gaunt- Grimjack for safe keeping, having learned of the man’s
reputation after his escape from Hell leaving Zard free to concentrate
of his plan to recreate the world he once knew; the Earth 2 of old.
William Zard had hoped to create the Utopia that he vaguely recalled
upon his death. Darkseid had twisted reality and he like everyone
had been thrust into a world they had never made. The Lord of
Apokolips had been defeated of course, but in the interim Zard had died
and had in turn achieved enlightenment. He had learned of the
universes beyond, and the life that he had once led. Granted he
had been a meager villain there and then, but in that universe that had
been wiped away in Crisis by the Anti-Monitor he had been happy.
It had been a cleaner, healthier, simpler world, more black and white
than the murky gray of the world that had emerged after the
Crisis. He had yearned for that, and with the stolen powers of
Felix Faust and his own enhanced, he had the chance to make his dream
reality once again.
But of course, All good things come to and end…
“It talks to me sometimes,” Gaunt said about the stub of
his cigar then nodded at the man across the table. “And yer
friend stopped in this mornin’. Said you’d be
comin’ by soon.”
“My friend?” William Zard looked to the green cloaked
man even as he raised his head and turned to face him. Zard paled
and staggered backwards, stopping abruptly as he backed into a
wall. He felt obsidian hard hands fall upon his shoulders holding
him in place and glanced to see the bouncer towering over him. He
felt sweat beading on his brow, pooling under his arms as fear swept
through him, a shuddering wave of despair.
William
Zard… the hauntingly cold voice echoed above the din of
the tavern. You
stand accused. Vengeance is demanded…
“No…” Zard whimpered, struggling slightly as
rock-hard fingers dug into his shoulders. Frantically he looked
to Grimjack, but the man stared at him with a coldly impassioned
glare. “We had a contract…” he said shrinking
back as the Spectre stood.
“Had is the operative
word, Zard,” John Gaunt said taking a long drag from his cigar
before stubbing it out in the metal tray. “Heard your
little fling brought about the destruction of a universe. I
don’t abide with that. Yer little wish resulted in the
deaths of more people than I can imagine. I don’t work that
way. Don’t deal with mass murderers.”
“B- But…” Zard whined looking between Gaunt and the
Spectre, “It was Krona! Not me!”
Your actions drew
Krona to Earth 2, William Zard, the Spectre said, his eyes
darkening as death roiled within his icy gaze. The Oan has met justice
at the hands of the Chosen One. HER will has been met on
that count. Only your fate remains…
“Nooo…” Zard whined struggling in the
bouncer’s grip. All but powerless and in the lair of his
enemies he knew he was doomed. He knew to the harsh hand of the
Spirit of Vengeance. He felt a warmth flowing down his legs as he
soiled himself. “Please…”
No mercy for you,
Zard, the Spectre said as mocking skulls danced within the black
sockets of his eyes.
Zard screamed…
Felix Faust staggered as he tried to regain his bearings. He had
been trapped within the gemstone for ages it seemed, ridiculed and
humiliated as Zard abused his stolen powers using his sorcery to
advance his mad dreams. Now though, he was free once again and it
tasted sweet.
You have been
given a new chance, Felix Faust, he heard the icy voice of the
Spectre as the ghost loomed large over him. Use it well…
Faust stared trying to find his voice as the Spirit of Vengeance held
out the red Luck Stone. Within its crimson facets he could see
the tiny form of Zard writhing in agonized frustration. Felix
Faust looked up, saw the Spectre closing his green-gloved fist about
the blue gem, secreting it away. Faust plucked the red stone from
the Ghost’s palm and felt the power coursing through his very
being.
This is not my
will or want, Felix Faust. Do not incur HER wrath or your fate
will be mine to decide.
And the Spectre faded away…
The noise in the tavern returned blaring and Faust gagged at the sudden
overload of odors that assaulted his sense of smell. It took all
his will to keep from retching but he managed eventually looking into
the steely gaze of John Gaunt.
“I’d suggest ya leave town by sundown, mage,” Gaunt
said producing a fresh cigar and puffing it to life in the flare of a
match. “I know yer type an’ don’t expect yer
gonna listen to the spook. Take yer shit outta my city or
I’ll kill ya… dead.”
Faust nodded, afraid to speak, not wanting his voice to crack. He
backed away under the golden gaze of the jet-black bouncer, finally
turning and practically running for the door…
Fawcett City Station WHIZ November…
Mary Batson/Bromfield watched through the thick, soundproofed glass as
her brother spun his tilt on the news within the radio booth
beyond. It always amazed her that he remained so young and almost
naïve looking despite the years and no one seemed to notice nor
question why a youth in his teens should have his own radio show.
More of the old mage’s magic she assumed. It was as good an
answer as any.
Finally Billy Batson signed off. He removed his over-sized
earphones and shuffled papers about his cluttered desk, marking a few
notes in pen in the process. At last he looked up and smiled as
Mary waved. Billy waved back then dropped his papers into a
leather carry case and moved to join her.
He dropped his binder onto a nearby table and the two embraced, hugging
as brother and sister might. Finally though they separated and
billy smiled up at her.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said and Mary could hear
the sincerity in his voice. Billy had always been straightforward
and pure, which was why she loved him so much. “It’s
been ages.”
“I know,” she replied, returning his wide smile with
interest. “I’ve been busy.”
“I heard,” he said, his grin broadening, eyes
sparkling. “Joined the JLA. I’m so happy for
you. Hope your stay will be better than mine.”
Mary smiled in sympathy. She knew that Billy had been so excited
to join the League at first, but there had been so many things that had
not sat well with his worldview that he could not remain. If she
ever got her hands on Guy Gardner she would show him a thing or two.
“I’m not a member,” she said a little sadly.
Superman had included her when they had faced the White Martians in
Antarctica, but she had never officially been inducted. They had
asked her to monitor the Embassy/transporter in Fawcett afterwards but
that meant nothing really. The League had called in a lot of
members to man the embassies this past year. Still, she
hoped. It would be a coupe and would turn her life around to join
the JLA. She would no longer be the ‘girl’ Marvel,
but her own person.
“Heard from Freddy the other day,” Billy said as he picked
up his binder again. “Seems he might be working with the
Titans. I’m thrilled for both of you. Oh, and Mister
Tawny says ‘Hi’.”
Mary chuckled. “My God, how is he doing?”
“Still chasing his tail,” Billy laughed. “Doing
okay though after Uncle’s death.”
“Billy. Here’s the updates for the 4:30- Oh,
sorry. Hello Mary.”
Mary Batson/Bromfield smiled and extended her hand to Sterling Morris,
President of W.H.I.Z. Broadcasting and Billy’s employer.
“No problem,” Mary said. “Just stopped in to
say ‘Hi’ to my brother.”
“Well, you know you are always welcome. The 4:30 updates,
Billy. Hot off of UPI. Seems Young Justice has disbanded,
officially.”
“Really?” both Mary and Billy said in unison. Morris
nodded.
“Impulse, Robin and Superboy have all vanished over the past
year. The others are throwing in the towel, going to help with
the rebuilding. Pity…”
“Why so?” Mary asked and Sterling Morris looked her
squarely in the eye.
“The world needs heroes, Mary. With the JLA on sabbatical,
the JSA is stretched thin. Now Young Justice
disbanding…” Morris sighed and hung his head looking
depressed.
“I’m sure the JLA will be active again soon.”
“I hope so,” Morris said with a tight smile. “I
certainly do.” Billy and Mary Batson/Bromfield remained
silent as Sterling Morris took his leave. Billy finally broke the
ensuing silence:
“Make us proud, Mary,” he said rising up on tiptoe to kiss
her on the cheek. “The torch is in your hands now.”
“Billy… I…”
He waved her off as Billy Batson bustled from the room and disappeared
into the hallways of Station W.H.I.Z. He had a news show to put
together for his next session. Mary Batson/Bromfield knew that
and respected his space, her thoughts swirling about the JLA. She
shivered as she considered what the future might hold…
Gotham Kane International
Airport December…
Bruce Wayne hefted his carry-on and shouldered the bag as he made his
way to the exit. He ignored the good wishes of the flight
attendant as he stepped out onto the stairway and looked off into the
distance, pausing. The lights of Gotham blazed in the misty
morning, seeming almost surreal, flickering to life at the beginning of
another workday.
“It’s almost beautiful from here,” he heard an
all-too familiar voice say as he stepped down the stairway.
“Pity it’s so ugly and tarnished up close.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, Kent,” Bruce said as he
stepped onto the damp tarmac. He saw Alfred not so far away,
dutifully standing beside the Lexus, cap in hand and
apprehensive. “Gotham’s far more beautiful than your
plastic backdrop. It has color.” Bruce Wayne saw
Clark Kent smirk, then frown.
“I heard what happened,” he said sounding sad.
“I’m sorry.”
Oracle…
“It was certainly unexpected,” Bruce said handing his carry
on to Alfred who in turn dropped it into the back of the Limo.
“Ra’s Al Ghul killing off my Rogue’s only to
resurrect them in his latest mad scheme to unite the world with those
he felt worthy. To lead the planet to a new golden
age…” Wayne shook his head as attendants loaded his
suitcases into the trunk of the idling car. “The twisted
dreams of a madman…”
“And he almost succeeded,” Kent said stuffing his hands in
his pockets. “But the temptation of your parents
resurrection…” Kent sighed. “I
don’t know that I would have done the right thing.”
“You are kidding, right?” Bruce Wayne said with a
laugh. "The world’s biggest Boy Scout giving over to
temptation? Never happen.”
“I am human, Bruce. I care…”
Bruce Wayne sighed remembering the sight of his parents’ coffins
suspended over the Lazarus Pit. All he had to do was walk
away. He wondered if Kal-El was maybe more human than he.
“What are you doing here, Clark?”
“It’s been a year, Bruce. We’ve all helped in
the rebuilding in our own ways; me physically, you financially
I’m sure. J’onn has held the League together in that
time, tenuously. It’s time to move forward again.”
“You can do that without me,” Wayne said looking at Alfred
who stood stoic, almost at attention. “I’ve buried my
fill of demons this past year, but I still have many bridges to
rebuild.” Kent laughed.
“Since when are you the king of cliches? I understand your
reluctance, believe me. I’ve had my share of pain this past
year, but the world needs us, Bruce. The world needs the
League. Not only Humanity, but the Meta Community as a
whole. We’re all still rebuilding and doing a good job, but
we need something to rally around. The world needs the JLA, and
the JLA needs you.”
Bruce Wayne stared at Clark Kent, the Superman hidden behind a pair of
glasses and a generic blue suit. The sun was just gloriously
cresting the horizon behind him, blue skies blossoming as though
embellishing his presence, like he was the only reason for their
being. A new day dawning…
“I’ll need some time,” Bruce said finally.
“Three weeks… a month to tie up loose ends and get and get
my personal life back on track. And... I have a few people to
apologize to before I can be what you need.” He looked at
Alfred again and saw his most trusted friend smile.
“Understood,” Kent said pushing his glasses up on the
bridge of his nose. “J’onn’s been scouting
potential locations for a new headquarters. When you’re
ready we’ll go check them out together. Once we have a
place to meet we can decide on a new roster. I have a few
suggestions…”
“I’m sure you do,” Bruce said with a grin.
Clark laughed, holding out his hand. Bruce Wayne accepted it,
trying not to wince as his old friend squeezed.
“Welcome home.”
To be Continued…
From the EIC:
A special thanks to everyone: to all the creators, writers and editors
that helped make JLU:2001 what it is today. The list of names is
far too long to name everyone, so I won’t even attempt it, but
know that every single one of you that has had even the slightest touch
on this site is well remembered and your efforts are appreciated.
Thanks too to all who have read a story here. Our writers have
always striven hard to create a great tale, given their all to
entertain and it was always well received and responded to, and
appreciated, and for that we thank you.
I know it sounds like I am writing an obituary, but I’m
not. JLU: 2001 is not dead, but rather reborn. Hopefully in
one short month will be the first of many Updates set ONE YEAR LATER
after the events in JLA #56 with the worldwide attack of the White
Martians and the destruction of the Earth 2 Universe, the same
collective site but free of belabored continuity and offering a fresh
start to our favorite heroes with new writers, titles and even a
revised look.
Many of the titles in JLU proper are open and ready for writers ONE
YEAR LATER, and of course the Wildstorm and Vertigo: Subculture
Imprints are still with us and accepting proposals, but we are also
kicking off an ALL-STAR Branch that will allow writers to take a new,
ultimate look at some old familiar faces. Expect new and exciting
things in all of these branches in the months to come, and if you get
the urge, feel free to join in whether writing or simply commenting.
Speaking for my staff, we are all looking forward to a brave and bold
new era at JLU: 2001, and hope you will be back for the wild ride to
come.
Thank you…
Curt F
EIC
JLU: 2001
Vertigo: Subculture
Wildstorm
All-Star
One year Later
