JLU 2001 Fanfiction

“Ashes to ashes…

Dust to dust…”

John Jones ignored the priest’s words for the most part. He had heard them all before in one form or another far too many times: at the funeral of Terry Sloan, Mister Terrific. They had been said for Al Pratt and Charles McNider… for Vibe. More recently, for Kyle Rayner, a wound that was still fresh and raw. Now they were being said again, for Ralph Dibny- the Elongated Man.

It was raining of course, a chill, constant drizzle that seemed to enhance the somber mood of those gathered to pay their respects and witness the final moments of their passed friend, teammate, acquaintance and love. Despite the rain and cold however, there were many people in attendance to Ralph Dibny’s final praise; dozens of mourners come to pay their final respects. John Jones was not surprised, really. Ralph Dibny had been a well-loved man and made friends easily. By the look, he had touched many in passing.

At Susan’s request there were none in uniform save those that could come no other way. Ralph had loved the life of the adventurer, but she had known that he had loved those people whom he had met over the years even more, and it was in that effect that she had wished his passing to be remembered. Thus, J’onn J’onzz had chosen that guise that was so like unto Ralph: his own identity as a detective, John Jones- though Ralph had never met him in that guise. It seemed the most fitting of all of his forms, a tribute of sorts.

There were other detectives present as well, some of whom J’onn had met, though most remained anonymous. He saw Jason Bard standing near a blonde woman that was probably Jonni Thunder. Not so far behind them was Cameron Chase. Odd that she would attend given her dislike of costumed crime fighters. He saw Christopher Chance, Darwin Jones and a chimpanzee that just had to be Detective Chimp. And there were others-

“Hello, J’onn.”

John Jones turned at the sound of the soft, cold voice to his rear. He had been so lost in studying the gathered assemblage that he had failed to notice her approach- Mari Jiwe McCabe, the Vixen. She was dressed in dark colors, a long black coat over all that seemed to do little to fend off the rain. Her hair was slicked back and long, beads running down the back that jangled as she wiped a gloved hand back over her head.

“Mari…”

She stared up at Jones, her eyes dark and cool before casting her gaze to the empty grave and the simple coffin set to the side. “Lost another, J’onn? Seems to be becoming a habit. Perhaps it WAS you after all.”

“What?” J’onn J’onzz stared aghast at what his former teammate had said. Vixen had been a member with them all on JLA and JLE. She had been a member when Vibe had lost his life, and had been a friend to Ralph Dibny- as well as the Martian Manhunter. Or so he had thought. Vixen simply smiled.

“Vibe… Green Lantern… Death seems to follow you, J’onn. All the way from Mars…”

“Mari! What…”

A hand fell to his shoulder and J’onn J’onzz glanced back to see Wally West at his side. The Flash looked worn and haggard, as though he had not slept in some time, his skin pale and his hair limp and straggling in the rain.

“Wally…” J’onzz said, turning back to find Vixen gone. If she had ever really been there at all. He had his doubts with what she had said. Did she truly feel that way? That it was his fault?

“J’onn… It is you right? What happened?”

John Jones looked to Wally West, the latter’s deep blue eyes wide with anxiety and confusion. J’onn knew that Ralph Dibny and Barry Allen had been friends and had shared many an adventure together, so it was only natural that Wally would be upset. Wally West had probably grown up with Ralph usually nearby. They had been teammates in Justice League Europe as well, later. Still, Wally looked haggard, gaunt almost. John knew that Kyle Rayner’s death had hit him hard, but was there more going on in the speedster’s life?

“Are you all right?” John Jones asked, but Wally simply scowled and shrugged, raking his fingers back through his red hair.

“Never mind me, J’onn. What happened with Ralph? Where were you and this new League?”

It was John’s turn to frown. “I was right there Wallace: chained and bound by the Star Sapphire when Deathstroke: Terminator appeared and killed Ralph. The Weather Wizard had frozen him solid, and Deathstroke simply shattered his fragile body. I was helpless, weakened from an attack by Firefly, and the others were in little better shape. The entire battle had been a trap set by Wilson, utilizing a group of villains that he had employed for yet another unknown party.”

“What?” Wally West shouted, quickly hushing his tone as he noted others in the crowd watching him now. “What do you mean? Who…”

“Wilson did not say, other than that his employer wished to send the Kryptonian a message. Superman obviously, and I can only imagine one man with the resources to hire Deathstroke as well as a full compliment of other villains…”

“Luthor!”

J’onn nodded, watching as Wally’s face darkened, his hands curling into fists. There was an anger there, which J’onn had never seen before in the Flash.

“We need to find him, J’onn,” Wally said, his voice a hiss of anger barely suppressed in check. “We need to avenge Ralph. No way he should have died like that, for no reason… God… a warning.”

“I agree Wally, and we shall. I am already in contact with Oracle, hoping to get a lead on Wilson. He is of course, one of the best at what he does. We shall catch him though, and all of those involved.”

“And Luthor?”

“I’m certain that he has covered his involvement well. He is in custody after all. If there is any way to link him to this however, you know that I shall try.”

Wally sighed and hung his head. He nodded, wiping his wet hair from his eyes again as he tried to force a half-hearted smile.

“I know, J’onn. I’m sorry. It’s just… Kyle… now Ralph…”

J’onn nodded in understanding, hearing the catch of emotion in his friend’s voice. Wally extended his hand, and J’onn shook it, and then Wally simply walked away.

John Jones watched his friend and saw he returned to the side of a woman that was probably Iris Allen, standing near Sue Dibny. She was veiled and wearing dark colors, glasses, almost incognito as she had abandoned the Meta life long ago despite her relatives; Wally and Bart at least. Jean Loring was in the small group as well; her own estranged husband- Ray Palmer still lost in the Microverse, hopefully. And there were others…

Carter Hall stood in the background.

Plastic Man was there with the young woman that he had been seeing for some time now; Penny Powers as J’onn recalled.

Booster Gold stood with Ted Kord, both dressed in black suits and both oddly stoic and silent for the pair. Too, Karen Starr was there, not too far from Wally and his aunt. He saw John Stewart on the sidelines, and Zee though Dinah had not come.

Nor had Batman… Superman… Aquaman… Diana…

They had their lives of course, and J’onn had heard of the turmoil recently involving Atlantis and its states, not that Arthur had been forthcoming. Diana had suggested that she might be away for a time, and Batman was… well… Batman. J’onn was surprised that Clark had failed to attend however. He was busy of course- he was Superman after all, but still…

He focused as the priest closed his bible and asked for prayer. J’onn bowed his head with the rest, out of respect as he did not follow Ralph’s faith, and then it was over. He watched as the mourners slowly filed past the coffin, which held the shattered remains of Ralph Dibny, and the open grave. He could sense the true sadness emanating from them all, whether singularly or in the group as a whole. Ralph Dibny, the Elongated Man had truly been admired and loved.

He waited until the last of the mourning guests had left and the cemetery workers had set about the task of lowering the coffin into the grave. Sue remained until the end as well as a handful of the others: Booster, Beatriz, Iris Allen and Wally dropping dirt and flowers into the grave as the morticians began the task of filling the hole…

“Susan?”

Sue Dibny looked up and J’onn could see the redness tainting her eyes even through the dark laced veil of mourning, which she wore. She had been crying of course, but had also remained strong throughout the service, seeing it through to the end. Now she smiled, though it was forced.

“Thanks for being here, J’onn. Ralph would have…” J’onn nodded, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

“I am sorry, Sue. So sorry…’

“I know,” she said. “I’ve been dreading this for years, like a cop’s wife I suppose. There were times when it all seemed a game. Times when it seemed Ralph would live forever and I’d be at his side like the Thin Man and his wife, from the movies, y’know? Other times it just… It all seemed almost surreal… But…”

Sue took a deep breath as the cemetery workers; the gravediggers started to shovel earth into the hole. He saw Wally, Iris and Jean waiting near the cars for Sue and J’onn wondered why she had remained alone. The rest of the League had left.

“I don’t want to stop, J’onn,” she said, staring at the grave. “Ralph wouldn’t want me to. The League’s been a part of both of our lives for so long. I’ll… I’ll need some time but… I want to return.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I need to be involved, J’onn. For Ralph’s sake, and my own. When Ralph was a part of the International League, and more in JLE, I was a coordinator: accountant, liaison, and some times a cheerleader I know.”

“You were never simply a cheerleader, Susan,” J’onn said with a slight smile. “You were as deeply respected as Ralph, and exceeded him- and others in certain ways.”

Sue Dibny smiled slightly, watching as the nearby grave continued to fill. “Thanks, J’onn. But like I said, I want to be involved again. I need to be, if not for my sake, then Ralph’s name.”

“Of course,” J’onn said, nodding in understanding. He glanced up, noticing that the rain was lessening at last. “Whenever you’re ready, Susan, there will be a place waiting for you.” Sue Dibny took J’onn’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you, J’onn.” She looked towards the line of long, black cars parked not so far away, and saw Wally holding an umbrella over his aunt and Jean Loring, still waiting patiently. “It’ll be soon, J’onn. For now, well, I need a bit of time.”

John Jones nodded in understanding and gave the grave a final, fleeting glance before he turned and walked away across the rain-soaked grass. It took a conscious effort for him to tune out Sue Dibny’s anguished emotions as his enhanced perceptions heard her starting to cry again, now that she stood alone and private.

As she had said, it would take time…

Ralph head The World's Greatest Superheroes.....

Aftermath

Identity Crisis!

JLA #37-
February, Year 4
by Curt Fernlund

Active Roster

Martian Manhunter	Booster Gold	Red Tornado	Fire	Hawkman	Elongated Man
Meridian	Sue Dibny	Skeets

The Outsiders

Mister
Terrific

Sam

Grace

Doctor Midnight

Hoboken, New Jersey

Michael Holt stared at the monitor board watching again the replay of the battle that took place in San Francisco three days past. His eyes and thoughts were focused on the largest central screen, though he kept the images playing on the smaller monitors in mind and peripheral vision as his hands and fingers idly danced over the open inner workings of one of his recently created T-Spheres. They had been sluggish in their initial performance, the response time a fraction of a second below expectations and needed an adjustment, the inner RAM expanded to compensate. It was something that he could do blindfolded- and had, or one of the many things that he could do at once. Multi-tasking was not a problem for Mister Terrific.

It had been just over a week since the JLA had returned from wherever they had been: missing from Earth and away on some secret, universe-shattering mission, at least according to their press releases. Just a week since Wonder Woman had headed a press conference in the League’s name, reporting that Green Lantern had died in battle, and that due to personal reasons the JLA as it was would be disbanding for a time. Just a few days since the Martian Manhunter had announced a new team that would be holding down the fort for the interim.

It was a team slightly reminiscent of the old Justice League International, and in a way the original League as well. Booster Gold, Hawkman, the Red Tornado, Fire, Elongated Man, the Manhunter and one other odd, untested addition: Meridian. It had the potential to be a powerful team, but then that was what the League had always been about; power.

“Key file: Meridian, monitor 9B,” Michael Holt said as he eased the panel on his T-Sphere back into place, activating it. The small, silver globe sparkled briefly before rising smoothly out of his open palm to hover slightly above his head, joining its two counterparts. “Hibernate,” he said without looking up and the three spheres sped off silently into the darker recesses of the base to their docking stations, there to recharge battery reserves and download the most current computer files. Michael, sure of his accomplishment of upgrading his spheres turned a portion of his attention to the scrolling insert that had popped up in the lowest, right monitor to display the known files concerning the woman, Meridian.

She had been a member of an apparently mystical group of adventurers led by Doctor Mist of the Global Guardians called the Leymen. She and Red Tornado oddly enough. There was little information on the group- publicly at least- and the more private files that he could access only shed the slightest light on Meridian, or where she had been since the group had disbanded. Now she was a member of the JLA, again with the Tornado.

It had only been a few days since the new team’s one and only public mission. The JLA had responded to an alleged bank robbery by a gathering of Metas that seemed to have old ties, though loose. There had been a time several years before when villains paired and grouped, odd matchings to be certain. The likes of Star Sapphire, Mirror Master, Captain Cold, the Wizard, Solomon Grundy and Block Buster to name a handful. Was there some sinister, secret connection there: beyond being super villains of course. Was there some guiding hand that had brought them together again?

It seemed so as when the new JLA had assaulted the bank to stop the terrorists they had promptly had their asses handed to them, or so it seemed via the hacked bank security systems. Before they had gone dark and silent. What had happened after that was a mystery, save for what J’onzz cared to impart to the press and those few images caught from outside the bank.

Holt glanced at one of those images, which he had enhanced. It was shadowy and grainy, the light half-refracting and the distance and movement had obscured most of the image. He had an arm, scaled in armor, a hand with a brown glove and part of a sword. His mind easily matched the image, his own eidetic memory placing the likeness as his computer had searched for a file match in its memory: Deathstroke, Terminator.

Someone wanted someone in the League dead then. Maybe all of course, and unfortunately the least likely among their number was the one who had suffered. Ralph Dibny had been the sacrificial goat apparently, or more accurately the lamb for the slaughter.

The villains had quickly escaped after that- at least the important ones had. Apparently the death of yet another teammate had spurred the Martian to vengeance and the tide quickly shifted as the JLA captured Mirror Master, Weather Wizard, Giganta and Solomon Grundy. Deathstroke had escaped of course, but whom else? It did not matter really.

“Close insert in 9B,” he said turning a portion of his attention back to the main screen as the Manhunter’s press conference displayed. There was nothing new on Meridian, and no sightings of any of the League since the Elongated Man’s funeral. It had been a private affair of a sort- friends and family only, but there had been reports of various celebrities turning up at the Central City Cemetery. Certain media friendly detectives, as Dibny was one himself, as well as Metas like Booster Gold though he had tried to hide incognito.

That had been yesterday. Michael Holt would give them their day of mourning. He was not a soulless monster after all, and despite what they had done the JLA deserved that much at least. But they would pay, and soon.

He leaned forward and adjusted the volume of Monitor A, focusing on that upper left screen. He saw that Pieter was awake his fingertips skimming the pages of a book swiftly and with a kind of artistic grace that few possessed. His friend’s face still showed signs of the beating, which he had endured over a week ago. He had been up and about too, and too soon he had finally admitted so now he did most of his work from the sick bay where he had agreed to reside for a few days.

“Pieter?” Michael said, watching as his friend looked up and smiled. His hand shifted towards the side table and his dark glasses, then hesitated.

“Spying on me again, Michael?” Pieter Anton Cross said with a chuckle.

“I like to call it checking up on you. Who doctors the doctor, my friend?”

“Physician, heal thyself,” Cross replied with a satisfied smirk and Michael Holt had to laugh.

“Any luck?”

Pieter marked the page of his book and set it aside with a shake of his head. “Fraid not, Michael. It’ll take more than all the king’s horses and men to put our Humpty together again. Hell, you’re the robotics expert. My talents are in tinkering.”

“I know,” Michael agreed, “but don’t sell yourself short. I thought you might see something I missed.”

“Doubtful,” Cross said with a grin as he tapped his cheek below his eye. “How’s things on your end? Any sign of Vera or Coldcast?”

“Nada. They vanished after arriving in Edinburgh well over a week ago now. Looks like it’ll be me, Grace and Sam.”

“And one other, Michael. You won’t be leaving me behind this time. They owe me."

“Are you sure, Pieter?” Michael Holt dubiously asked. “It’s hardly what I’d choose for your first field mission.”

“You’ll need me- or at least another pair of hands. I’m ready, and I’ve had a week to recuperate and fine tune my gimmicks. The shock value might just be the edge you need.”

“All right,” Michael reluctantly agreed. “We won’t go that route again, then. As long as you know that it may well be the last mission of the Outsiders.”

“All the more reason for me to be there then,” Pieter Cross said. “Now let me get my last bit of rest, hunh? Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for me.”

Michael Holt switched off the monitor, letting his friend enjoy some privacy, then began to shut down the entire grid one by one. There was little else to learn except the truth: why the JLA had attacked, stealing Holt’s Behavior Modification machine, injuring Pieter Cross in the process and kidnapping Shift; Rufus the elemental man? It had been a malicious attack, and done when the JLA had allegedly been lost. It was a mystery begging to be solved…

But of course the Stretchable Sleuth was dead.

Manhattan
5th Avenue
The JLI Embassy

Oberon cursed as he stepped from the teleporter into darkness. Stepping from the platform he relit his cigar, the flare of his Zippo lighting the gloom momentarily. All looked the same as he remembered.

He had received the computer alert that power had failed at the closed Manhattan Embassy and he had gone through the usual protocol by rote. He had informed the Watchtower but of course no one answered so he left a message. He had informed the NYPD, but of course they had been unable to enter the building, and their drive by had shown nothing. He had informed Checkmate of the potential hazard, a possible break in, but they had seemed uninterested- at least the communications Pawn had. She took the message though and placed a flag on it for investigation as soon as a ‘Knight moved into position’.

God he hated dealing with Metas and Meta wannabes.

Semi-retirement had been very, very good to him however. Ever since the JLI had closed up shop for a bigger and better JLA, they had left him in charge of maintenance and security of those embassies that the ‘gods’ deemed worthy of keeping around from their lunar Olympus. Never mind the fact that they had never invited him to their base, or even sent him a fucking Christmas card. Not that he cared really, as long as they paid him and kept his Medical and Dental current and up to date.

Oberon grumbled as he lit his pen light and made his way through the dark and dusty building, heading for the stairs and the lower levels. He would have to call in the cleaning crew soon, as he was stirring dust like crazy with every step. He had forgotten just how filthy New York could be with constant smoke from fires and factories, street construction, car exhaust, Con Ed. Even sealed up tight the dust and dirt found a way in.

The building had been sealed for years now, save for his occasional inspections and the quarterly cleaning crew that came in. Of course the Black Canary had visited recently, spending the night just about a month ago. * Maybe she hadn’t locked down properly, or left the coffee pot on and shorted out the fuse box? Stranger things had happened, and the building was old, over a hundred years in fact.

* See the Black Canary limited series for the scoop on that- Curt

Still, good as retirement was, there were times when Oberon missed the old days. JLI had been… interesting, and he HAD made good friends even though they did not keep in touch unless they wanted something. The Martian was a good guy, and Ted and Michael were fun. Beatriz was always nice, and Karen too for the obvious reasons. Mostly though he missed Scott and Barda. It hurt sometimes, he missed them so much.

Oberon sighed as he shoved open the door to the Compressor Room in the sub-basement level two. It was cold so deep under the building, especially with the power out, and the heat shut off, and of course the weather had turned chill and sour. One more reason to hate NYC. Paris it was not.

He made his way to the fuse box and opened it up, scanning the fuses within the metal casing automatically, only then glancing at the main power switch. His brow wrinkled as he realized that it had been moved from ‘standby’, which kept the building humming on low-level power, to ‘off’.

“What the fu…” he grumbled as he threw the lever up, igniting the power grid again. He heard the low grind and rumble of mechanics as all around him the machinery that kept the building running struggled to come back to life: the furnaces, the freezer compressors for the kitchens, the battery generators. He felt the static as electricity sparked through the old machines, heard the hum of power as the emergency lights flashed, bathing the room in a garish red glow.

He felt the cold fingers snake down the back of his coat and yelped as he was hoisted into the air. His cigar sputtered to the floor and he saw a young and beautiful blonde woman step forward to crush it out even as another woman- the one that had lifted his Dwarven frame- twisted him about to sneer into his face.

“Hiya, shorty. How’s it hangin’?”

Oberon felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise to the tattooed woman’s taunt but before he could respond he heard another voice; a man’s.

“Easy, Grace,” the voice coolly said, “he’s not the problem, remember. He’s the solution.”

“Aw, you’re no fun at all, Mike,” the woman said with a laugh. “I like my men short and helpless.” She smiled widely, rubbing the soft leather glove covering her free hand over Oberon’s bald pate. “If you only had a flat head for me to set my beer on…”

“Sit on this, bitch!” Oberon cursed as he lashed out, kicking the woman in her crotch. She laughed as Oberon yelped in pain.

“Gotta do better than that, old man.”

Finally Oberon sagged, dangling there a couple feet off of the floor as the woman easily held him. They were four in total, and by their costumes probably all Metas. He did not recognize them, though one looked a bit like the old Doctor Midnight in costume at least, with a few variations. He did not keep up with the Meta news, as Paris was generally spared any activity.

“All right,” he said with a defeated sigh. “Ya got me. If yer lookin’ for ransom, I’ll tell ya yer wastin’ yer time.”

The black man with the queer mask and the little silver balls zipping around his head chuckled. “We’re not kidnapping you- Oberon right? No, we have other plans, of which you are a critical part. You can help us, or I’ll take what we need. Five minutes difference, more or less, your decision.”

Oberon scowled and folded his arms, trying to look as stubborn as possible as he dangled at the woman’s arm’s length. The black man shrugged and turned towards the stairs and Oberon saw the words ‘FAIR PLAY’ emblazoned on his back.

“Bring him Grace, but be gentle please.”

“No problem, jefe,” the woman Grace said as she scooped Oberon into her arms to carry him like she might a baby. “Me and shorty here are gonna be great friends I’m sure.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Oberon snarled as the five of them headed upstairs. Grace simply laughed…

The Moon
JLA Watchtower

Booster Gold nearly fell from the Suspensor Chair when the alarm sounded. He looked around frantically, his eyes wide as he wondered where he was and what was happening. He saw Skeets hovering just a foot away, staring at him.

“You okay, Booster?”

“What? What’s…”

“Incoming oh wise one,” Skeets responded with just a trace of sarcasm in his digitized voice.

“We’re under attack?”

“No, your goldness. The teleporter has been activated. Unscheduled access from the Manhattan JLI Embassy. Template suggests Oberon.”

“Oberon,” Booster said, finally settling down and getting his bearings. He hated Monitor Duty, but with Skeets on hand it was a good time to catch up on his sleep. “I haven’t seen that surly little midget in months.”

“I believe they prefer to be called ‘Little People’ these days, your PC-ness.”

“Whatever, Skeets,” Booster said as he maneuvered the chair to the floor, hopping out of the suspensor field before it settled completely. “Let’s go say hi to the little guy.”

“By your command.”

Booster flew through the Watchtower heading for the main Transport Chamber as he liked to call it, ignoring the escalators and elevators. Within moments he swept through the automatic doors only to have a fist slam squarely into his grinning face. He had been expecting a friend, so he had not powered his force field and was promptly blind-sided and swiftly hit the floor like a ton of gold bricks.

“That’s one,” Grace said as she planted a booted foot on Booster’s chest, watching to make certain that he was indeed out. He did not move.

“Don’t get cocky, Grace,” Mister Terrific said, kneeling beside the fallen hero. His T-Spheres hovered behind, and at his command scanned Booster Gold and began to override the cybernetic workings of his armor, shutting down the access to his offensive and defensive capabilities with a contained and specific EMP. Michael Holt removed the hero’s golden ring, which apparently gave him the power of flight and slid it onto his own pinky finger. “Surprise is on our side, but that could change at…”

“Consider it changed.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to the doorway (the Outsiders as well as the bound and gagged Oberon) to see the floating shape of Skeets hovering there. “I have sounded the alarm,” the football shaped cybernetic said, “and am more than prepared for defending this installation, as well as getting revenge for Booster.”

There was a blinding flash of light and everyone of flesh and blood that was conscious screamed in surprise, or cursed, or grunted into a gag. Booster of course said nothing.

Mister Terrific heard Grace’s scream even as he felt the surge of electricity coursing through the room. The little robot was apparently effective, but then he had come prepared. With a thought he sent out his T-Spheres.

Michael Holt blinked, his vision slowly returning as he heard the expletives of the little JLA robot as it zipped away, his own cybernetic partners giving chase. That would keep ‘Skeets’ occupied for the time being at least.

“You okay, Michael?”

Mister Terrific frowned to hear Pieter say his name aloud. He had told ‘Doctor Midnight’ to use code names, but then he recalled his own earlier outings and recalled force of habit. “I’m fine,” he said. “Can you see?”

“Not since the accident, but yeah.”

“Focus, Doctor,” Michael said, struggling not to rub his eyes, “and see to the girls.”

Slowly the room swam back into focus as darkness gave wave to shades of gray and muted color. He felt a surge of power again and turned. A fist slammed across his face and he flew backwards, sprawling on the cool linoleum. Michael Holt looked up to see Hawkman standing over him.

“How dare you!” Hawkman snarled, his wings ruffling with his irritation. He raised his fists swathed in leather and Cestus, and he held a knobbed mace before Michael’s prone form. “I knew Terry Sloan, bastard! How dare you corrupt his good name!”

“I knew him too, Hawkman,” Mister Terrific said, easing into a position that might allow him to spring to his feet or roll away. “It has never been my intention but to follow in his example.” Holt saw the winged man look to Booster Gold however, and knew that he was talking to a wall of obstinance.

“Liar!” the Hawkman said as he raised his mace high, driving it into the floor as Michael rolled to the side, just in time to avoid the shattering blow that would have crippled him. Hawkman played for keeps.

“Sam!” Michael yelled and felt the sizzle of heat as it flashed over him. Hawkman hissed, but to his credit did not cry out in what had to be pain. Michael smelled burning feathers.

“Got him!” Samantha said as she sailed overhead, slamming into the smoldering bird man, knocking him back and the mace from his hand. She was not as strong or resistant as Grace, but she had more than enough power to compensate and to hold her own against the Thanagarian- or the reincarnated Egyptian Prince- whatever he was this month. It did get confusing.

Mister Terrific scrambled to his feet even as the teleporter came to life again. He saw a female shape with big hair taking form and knew that it was probably Fire. He reached out and grabbed the bound form of Oberon to pull him out of harm’s way, chancing a quick glance to see Sam and Hawkman trading blows, Samantha’s eyes blazing red with her own version of Heat Vision. “Grace! You’re up!”

The tattooed Grace was still rubbing her eyes as she stepped to the transport pad, winding up with her fist cocked. Michael Holt watched as Beatriz Bonilla Da Costa shimmered into being, her head twitching as she tried to focus on her surroundings. There was a moment’s disorientation in the transport- he had felt it when they had arrived via Oberon’s template- and that was now their advantage. As soon as Fire appeared solid, started to move, Grace swung.

Fire’s head spun to the side with the impact as she was lifted off her feet. Michael winced at the blow, hearing a crack and hoped that it was not the woman’s spine. He wanted the League down to answer questions, not dead. Still, Fire flew back a bit, off of the platform to sprawl unconscious on the ground.

“That’s two,” Grace said giving her knuckles a kiss.

“And two too many,” another muffled voice said.

Mister Terrific saw a woman in an environmental suit suddenly appear and grab Grace by the arm only to disappear again just as swiftly.

“Meridian!” he shouted, but too late. The two women were gone. “Midnight!” he called out as he touched a finger to his mask. “Code Black!”

Michael Holt saw his friend reach to his belt and toss the small dark pellet he extracted in one fluid motion. His own vision shifted for the coming darkness that the ‘Blackout Bomb’ would create, but before it could hit a green hand faded into sight and snatched it from its flight.

“Most impressive,” the Martian Manhunter said as he became fully solid and in full hue. “Had I not been in meditation of course, your plan would not have worked so efficiently.”

Mister Terrific felt the light scratching in the back of his head and saw both Samantha and Pieter suddenly fall to the floor unconscious. He shook his head, wondering why he had been spared and saw Hawkman striding forward. His wings were all but gone, his bare skin charred or red, his helmet cracked to reveal a hard, ragged face that held no mercy. Michael tried to recall his T-Sphere’s but could not make contact.

“Stand down, Hawkman,” the Martian said, and only after great effort the big man complied. He was heaving with rage however, his fingers curling open and closed. “Why are you here… Mister Terrific is it?”

“That’s no Mister Terrific, J’onn,” Hawkman snarled. “Don’t call him that.”

“Then let us find another name.”

Michael Holt tried to resist, but the Martian was debatably the greatest Mentalist on the planet, and his meager mathematical games were useless against the Manhunter's probing thoughts. He saw, watching helplessly as the Martian looked curiously at first, then aghast.

“It was not us,” he said, glancing to one side as Meridian reappeared, dropping Grace to the floor. His teammate’s skin was tinged blue and shining with ice from exposure to the vacuum of space. Meridian looked about, then removed her helmet.

“Did we win?”

“They lost,” the Martian said solemnly, staring at Holt. “See to Booster please, and Beatriz.”

Meridian seemed to ruffle at that, but complied. Hawkman still seethed. Skeets came floating back into the room with the T-Sphere’s in tow, trapped in some type of force field.

“Michael Holt,” the Manhunter said at last. “Alleged genius, electronics entrepreneur, member of Mensa. The Batman has mentioned you in passing. I assure you, the League did not attack you or your Outsiders. We were not even on Earth when it happened, but… elsewhere…”

“I trust Midnight. He said it was you, Manhunter.”

“It was not. You have been mislead, though for what purpose I have no idea. I suspect that it is somehow connected to the death of Ralph Dibny, but to what affect I have yet to deduce. We would have approached you eventually, if your methods as we have heard are such that you are manipulating your victims mentally. This is not something that should be done, and nothing that the JLA would ever do, rest assured. You are violating Civil Rights at the least. We would have eventually shut down your operations no matter the good that you have done, or the benefits you believe to be bestowing.”

“Where’s Rufus?”

The Martian Manhunter sighed. “I do not know. You have been manipulated, Michael Holt. We shall investigate, but…”

“WHOA!”

All eyes turned to Skeets who seemed to be fluttering in midair. They saw a sparkle, a flux of power as his tractor beam fizzled and he fell to the floor with a clang, followed by the three T-Spheres.

“What?” Mister Terrific said as the Martian dropped to his knees, clutching his head and screaming louder and far more shrilly than anyone he had ever heard. Definitely in agony, and Michael had no idea why. His teammates were still unconscious, and Hawkman and Meridian seemed just as confused, though the former was moving forward to attack.

“What have you done, you…”

“Look!”

Everyone looked to see where Meridian was pointing; the view of the Earth shining through one of the outer, upper viewing portals. There was a white flash of light boiling near Greece, growing larger at incredible speeds, spreading outwards.

The world exploded in a garish white burn.

Michael Holt had time to gasp as the others in the room seemed to disintegrate, turning to ash and blowing away on a wind that he could not feel. Their faces were etched in his mind forever…

Fear…

Awe…

Anguish…

And finally that too faded away.

Forever was short-lived after all…

Next Issue: Dark Genesis!

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